Tangle
by WynCatastrophe
Summary: The search for Granta Omega leads to the far reaches of the galaxy, entangling the Jedi in the political disputes of a distant planet where friendships are tested and some damages cannot be undone.
1. Chapter 1

The fifth story in the _Life in Freefall_ series; can probably stand alone. (Since, you know, Star Wars started off with Episode IV ... )

Disclaimer: Lucas owns Star Wars. This is purely a work of fanfiction, written for my own enjoyment and shared for your amusement.

Feedback: Oh, I'd love some!

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE:**

_We have come to bring you home. Your brother is dead._

Ryn opened her eyes slowly and refocused on the woman who had spoken. "Then you have come a long way for nothing," she said quietly. "My brother is alive, and I am not going anywhere." She pressed her hands together and bowed. "Have you found rooms on Coruscant? Let me help you secure lodgings."

"We have a place to stay, thank you," the oldest of the messengers gritted. "You Grace, your brother has been missing in action for more than two weeks. There has been no word, no offer of ransom. We cannot possibly continue to wait and hope for the best."

"Kitraal Orun is alive," Ryn reiterated firmly. "I can feel him."

"But ..." the older woman looked at her helplessly. "What will you do?"

Ryn gathered calm silently, met the messenger's gaze. "Speak with you in the morning." She bowed again, to all three of them. "Excuse me."

[]

As the turbolift doors closed behind five astonished Jedi, Ryn turned to Anakin. "This is very bad," she anxiously.

It was a gross breach to etiquette for her to speak to Anakin first, but this didn't seem like the time to call her on it.

"Yeah," Anakin said. "I was getting that. You really think Kit's alive?"

"Yes. I really can feel him. But something is very wrong here." Ryn bit her lip, thinking furiously. "I didn't recognize any of those women."

Obi-Wan cut in at this point. "Any particular reason you should?"

"Yes," Ryn said. She sounded as definite as Anakin had ever heard her. "If the High King wanted me home, he would have commed the Temple himself to tell me so. Or in the event of my brother's death, he might conceivably send someone trusted to bring me the news - a member of his own family, or an old retainer of mine, if we had any left." She looked up and met Obi-Wan's eyes. "But he wouldn't send three total strangers to tell a girl her brother had died. That's _inhumane._ And I've never seen those women before in my life; they can't possibly belong to the High King's household." Ryn dragged in a deep breath and let it out, scrubbing her face with her hands. Energy sparked in the Force around her. "Besides," she said, her voice steadying, "I am a noble hostage. I can't simply be called home; an agreement of some sort, probably an exchange, would have to be reached with the Jedi Council."

Anakin could practically _see_ his master going over what he knew of Lorethan politics.

"By your own admission, the Jedi have not treated you according ot the usual terms of such an arrangement," he suggested. "Perhaps the High King has decided the agreement is no longer valid?"

Ryn made a small noise of frustration. "The Jedi have not honored the terms of a noble hostage, yes, but I have never reported it," she answered. "And still the High King would have spoken to me himself."

Obi-Wan frowned. "Perhaps your Council, then?"

"The Council couldn't order me to tie my shoelaces, even assuming they could reach a consensus long enough to try it," Ryn said impatiently. "They don't have the authority."

Obi-Wan blinked; the other Jedi stared. "But I thought the Council was the most powerful body on Loreth?"

"It is," Ryn agreed. "But the only beings who can give me an order are the Chief of my Clan - in this case, Kit - and the _ardh-ri_ - I mean the High King - himself."

"Must be nice," Siri joked, clearly trying to relieve the tension.

Ryn managed a brief, sad smile for her effort. "It is my birthright. With power comes responsibility." She exhaled gently. "That's how I ended up here."

There was a wealth of history behind those words, the echoes of all Ryn's sacrifices; but the turbolift was nearing the apex of the tower, with the Council chamber just ahead, and the Jedi let it go.

Anakin didn't, not quite. He looked at Ryn with eyebrows raised: _You've been holding out on me._

Ryn's slight grimace was an acknowledgement; but she met his eyes and answered with that infinitesimal shake of her head that meant not _no_, but _later._ Anakin knew her well enough to guess that the rest of that thought was _when we're alone._

And he trusted her enough to play along.

So when they stepped through the turbolift doors and into the round room at the top of the spire that served as the Jedi Council's meeting chamber, he took a long step forward and to the right, blocking any straight-on view of Ryn's face and taking her, visually, off center stage. It was a small trick, and any Jedi could see through it with minimal effort ... but unless one got a good look at Ryn's face, imperfectly concealing her feelings, there was no need to make even that small effort. They would sense Ryn's anxiety - there was no help for that - but Ryn was _always_ nervous around the Council.

_Hang on, Ryn. We'll figure this out. Just hang on._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: In which Ryn, who is assigned to the Jedi Temple on a diplomatic mission, reveals that troubles on her home planet could have dire consequences for the Jedi Order. Obi-Wan has a bad feeling.

**CHAPTER TWO:**

The debriefing went about as badly as Obi-Wan had expected. The mission had been an unmitigated disaster from start to finish, after all. He didn't think any mission that ended in actually banning the Jedi from the planet could possibly be called a success, and he wasn't surprised when the Council felt the same.

"Another concern, there is," Yoda announced, when they had all meditated together and released their regret into the Force. "These visitors from Loreth. Trouble they bring, hm?"

Ryn straightened her spine and met Yoda's eyes. "The messengers are a sign of trouble back home, Master Yoda."

"Hmmmm." Yoda's ears drooped in thought. "Suspect unrest, do you?"

"There has been unrest all my life," Ryn said promptly. "I _suspect_ Stevan Ardel. But I have no proof."

Mace Windu arched an eyebrow. "Then why suspect him?"

The look Ryn shot him had more than a year of grievance behind it. "Because he opposed the mission to Coruscant," she said crisply. "Bitterly. The Council of Nine tried to appease him by suggesting his sister Evinne for the appointment, and he had a fit." Something crossed Ryn's face, like a shadow of pain and fear, gone almost before it could be recognized. "And for the last year and a half or so, he has been getting money and support from _somewhere._ No one understands how." Ryn took a deep breath. "It may also be relevant that he has a long history of wanting me dead." She could read the skepticism in the Council members as well as Obi-Wan could; she said, "I mean it. He hates Kit - my brother - but he _loathes_ me. And since the two of us staked everything we had on this mission ... If Stevan can disrupt the mission to Coruscant and discredit or kill me in the process ... It will be a coup for him."

"I'm not sure I understand you," Windu said carefully. "What do you mean, you staked everything?"

"Ah ... right," Ryn said. "I mean that there was ... a controversy ... over this mission. Kit called in every favor he had, and it almost wasn't enough. It was an unpopular mission, and no one wanted the assignment. So I volunteered." Ryn swallowed hard. "It is ... not easy to explain to outsiders, but what that means, in practice, is that we put the future of Clan Orun on the line."

"It seems to me," said Ki-Adi-Mundi, mild as ever, "that having you off-world would be to this Stevan's advantage."

Ryn sighed; Obi-Wan could feel her fatigue and frustration. "I'm not explaining this very well," she said reflectively. "All right. Try it this way: Do you remember the story of Queen Amarinth of Eckto Seven?"

The Council exchanged looks. "Go on," Mace Windu said.

The look on Ryn's face said she'd noticed that wasn't an answer, but she let it go.

"When her homeworld was threatened, Queen Amarinth turned herself over as a hostage, in exchange for the safety of her people," Ryn said. "She was held captive by the Saturri for thirty years, but her people never forgot her. The resistance never falteed. Amarinth was an old when she was finally released, but in all those years, the bond between queen and people never wavered."

"But you're not a captive," Ferus said, for once speaking out of turn.

Ryn's eyes widened in disbelief, but she shook it off and soldiered on. "My point is: on Coruscant, I am the noblewoman who risked everything for the cause. If I turn around and go home, I'm just the girl who failed her mission. Stevan can't afford to have me hanging around the Core like some sort of martyr. As long as I am _here, _I am a threat to him. He has to make me recant." She took a deep breath, eying the Council members in turn. "There is one other thing. If Stevan Ardel is successful in a bid for control of the High King's Council, it could very well mean open war with the Jedi Order. He believes there can be no peace until there is no one left to call us heretics."

The frozen silence of disbelief met her words; it was hard to believe, in the serenity of the Temple, that any but the Sith could want their destruction. And the Council members did not know Ryn as well as Obi-Wan did; they did not trust her.

"All right," Windu said finally, leaning forward and regarding her over steepled fingers. "So Stevan Ardel has a motive for getting you home, and your brother's MIA could be just the excuse he needs. I'll admit, it all seems a bit to convenient for comfort. But how do we find proof?"

"I'm not sure," Ryn said grimly. "But I have a good idea where to start."

Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow at her. "And where is that?"

"Evinne Ardel." Ryn didn't sound happy about it.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note / acknowledgement: This chapter owes a greater debt than usual to Matthew Stover's novelization of _Revenge of the Sith_. I am experimenting with slipping in character profiles of the style he used to such effect: "This is Anakin Skywalker: ..." etc. I have always found those scenes in the novelization to be powerful; how they play out in this story remains to be seen.

Feedback: is, as always, greatly appreciated. Don't be shy!

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE:**

Ryn closed the door on Anakin's offer to stay with her - "There is nothing you can do, Anakin, go get some rest" - and let herself slide down the wall to sit beside it in an exhausted slump, trying to figure out her next move.

Because things were going wrong faster than she could count them.

She wasn't lying about Kit being alive - she _could_ feel him. Unfortunately, what she felt from him was nothing good. Not to put too fine a point on it, but _agony and terror_ pretty much summed it up.

So that was bad.

Also, the fact that Kit appeared to be MIA was not encouraging.

And despite the lack of evidence, Ryn was pretty sure that Stevan Ardel was behind whatever was wrong.

She couldn't just abandon her post and run to save Kit without destroying the mission they'd worked so hard for, in which case they would both be doomed anyway.

But she couldn't just sit here, either.

* * *

_This is Ryn Orun: fierce, dedicated, loyal. Sacrifice for her people. She gave her life away before she ever really had it, and she has never regretted this, because she lives firmly in the realm of What Is._

_But six months ago, in the middle of a Coruscant morning full of duty and empty of feeling, she ran around a corner into Anakin Skywalker and fell flat on her back._

_She opened her eyes to see him kneeling over her, and woke up in freefall._

_Nothing in her life has prepared her for this. Now she has _feelings_. She tries not to care about them, because she knows that, in the end, she is what she was born to be and that was never a lover. But it's different now. _She_ is different now._

_Now the world is bright and too full of light and color and pain, and she can't even be sorry._

_Now she's drawn into the world of the Jedi as more than a duty. Now she isn't just trying her best to do the right thing. _

_Now it's personal._

_She doesn't know how to deal with this, but she has no interest in taking it back._

_She's losing everything she was to become something she doesn't know how to be. Listening to Obi-Wan and grappling with the Jedi Code not as an intellectual exercise but because it matters to Anakin, and now he is on the very short list of people who matter to her. Personally._

_Except Kit and everybody she should be taking care of back home is still on that list, too, and Anakin dragged some other people onto it with him: like Obi-Wan and sometimes Yoda and also, inadvertently, Ferus Olin. And she knows she cares too much, but it isn't in her to care any less._

_So when she helps Anakin free Ziro the Hutt's slaves and then ends up in the middle of a disastrously conflicted mission on a planet run by a dictator and she hops straight from that into the fact that her brother is missing and someone is trying to get her off Coruscant and enemies are all around: for the first time, _she feels everything_._

_It's destructive and glorious and painful but _right_, and Ryn gives herself over to it fully, because this is who she is._

_Fierce. Dedicated. Loyal._

_And now it's _personal_._

* * *

The Temple comm system was not happy about putting her through, but finally it accepted her codes, and Ryn put in a call to Makesh Aravel.

"Makesh."

"Ryn Orun. I need to speak with Evinne."

Pause. "Lady Ardel needs rest."

"It's urgent."

A second pause, which Ryn took in stride because Makesh had always talked that way. He liked to know what he was saying before he said it. "What's going on?"

"Not over the comm," Ryn said. "I'll come to you. Just give me your coordinates."

"Lady Ardel is in bacta," Makesh said. "She should be out around midnight, if she heals as quickly as she's done in the past." He hesitated. "If she will come, I will bring her then."

"Thank you," Ryn said, not feeling relieved at all. "I look forward to your visit."

She cut the connection and leaned against the wall, exhausted. _I have a bad feeling about this._

* * *

Ferus showed up at 18:35, when Ryn was trying to decide between black and black for dinner. She frankly didn't feel like eating and talking so much as she felt like throwing herself on the bed and avoiding consciousness for a day or three, but she wrapped a towel around herself and hit the door release to let Ferus in, trying to ignore the simmering angst in the back of her mind that she recognized as Anakin's fuming, very likely on her behalf.

Ferus's eyes popped wide-open.

"Oh," he stammered. "I'm sorry. I didn't - I know I'm early - I didn't - I wasn't thinking."

"It's all right," Ryn said, stepping back from the doorway because a trio of passing Younglings had stooped just behind Ferus to get a head start in Humanoid Anatomy 101. "Please come in."

One of the Younglings started to follow him in; but Ferus steered him gently back out the door with a hand on his shoulder.

"I think they may have just got the wrong idea about what Padawans do in their spare time," Ferus said ruefully as Ryn leaned past him, clutching her towel, to shut the door. "I really am sorry. Siri taught me better manners, I promise."

"You must be a disgrace to her," Ryn said mildly. "Have a seat anyway. I'm trying to pick an outfit for dinner. My choices are black and black."

Ferus's cheeks were still flaming, but he followed her into the living area with a small grin. "Then I guess I'd have to be daring and go with black."

"Good idea," Ryn said. "I'll be right back."

But in an odd way, Ferus had decided her: having frightened him half to death with the towel incident, Ryn pointedly chose the more conservative outfit, fitted - all right, go ahead and call them tight - black pants in stretchy synthleather and a dawora, which she conscientiously wrapped all the way down to the hip. It covered a lot more than her minikilt.

It was a little utilitarian for a dinner date, but this was Ferus, who probably wouldn't care and who might not have more than friendly intentions anyway. There was no point in dressing seductively for his benefit; he would quite as likely be offended as impressed.

Assuming he even noticed.

_It's just dinner. It's just with Ferus. You need food, he needs food, it's no big deal._

Except whether it was a big deal or not pretty much depended on whether Ferus thought it was a date or not. If it was _not_ a date, then they could eat, chat civilly, and then get back to all the problems they were dealing with in the rest of their lives. If it _was_ a date ... the only reason Ryn could think of for a Jedi to try such a thing was as a polite precursor to what she had once heard Aayla Secura call "mutual no-strings pleasuring": casual sex. And while in theory Ryn knew she needed to get the hell over Anakin and get on with her life ... in practice the thought of letting her first time be with anyone _else_ made her slightly queasy.

She scolded herself for adopting Anakin's blatantly sentimentalist outlook on first times and belted on the new utility belt Obi-wan had scavenged for her (he had blathered some stuff, when he dropped it by a couple of hours ago, about needing to give Anakin some space; privately Ryn suspected that Obi-Wan had tried to give his Padawan The Talk and it hadn't gone very well, and she could only hope that her best friend was still speaking to her).

Ferus was sitting on the sofa, his face expressionless but alert: the picture of Jedi detachment.

Ryn smiled at him, determined to make herself pleasant company for the evening, no matter what else might be in store for either of them.

"So," she said invitingly, "what is this place you were telling me about?"

* * *

She really was breathtaking. Ferus didn't think it was actually possible that Ryn could have grown more lovely since the last time he'd seen her, but certainly his appreciation had expanded and intensified.

_Maybe this wasn't such a good idea._

Ferus had a sort of vague understanding that finding one's dinner partner attractive was generally considered to be fortunate, but under the circumstances, he thought it could prove hazardous.

A man could lose his head if he weren't careful. Even a Jedi.

He knew his fellow Padawans thought he had no feelings, that he had only the Code. But it wasn't like that, not at all. He had feelings, he just found it easier than some to release them into the Force.

That didn't mean they didn't cause a certain amount of disruption on their way through him, though.

Ferus glanced sidelong at Ryn in the public transport - he had scrupulously eschewed the use of Jedi vehicles for personal errands - as the lights of Coruscant blurred past.

Ryn sensed his scrutiny; she turned from the window and offered a small, uncertain smile in return.

The breath caught in his throat; Ferus was beginning to think he could be asthmatic.

A lifetime of habitual politesse made him offer her a nod of acknowledgement while he tried to regain some objectivity. He'd met more attractive females in his life. _Well, not many._ But Evinne, for example. Evinne Ardel was lush, athletic, golden and sensuous: she had a fabulous body and you could tell she enjoyed it. Hardly fitting for Jedi asceticism, but not unhealthy in and of itself. Ferus had long since come to understand that Jedi disciplines could be swiftly detrimental to such things as procreation and the population maintenance if practiced en masse. Evidence, if any were needed, that all walks of life were necessary for a harmonious whole.

He had regained his calm but lost his train of thought.

So. Speaking of those other walks ... Ferus had had a half-formed plan of learning more about Ryn's own path tonight. Her history, her people. It didn't take a Jedi Master to see that she hadn't been telling everything before the Council earlier that afternoon.

A lot of beings would have been made suspicious by that sense of a surface barely scratched, but Ferus knew better than to leap to conclusions. Just because Ryn wasn't telling all she knew didn't mean she was actively hiding anything. Ferus didn't sense deception in her.

And anyway, the only way to learn what she was up to was to do exactly what he'd been planning in the first place: Ask her questions, get her talking.

Ferus gave Ryn another sidelong glance, and Ryn answered it with an even more uncertain smile; she was beginning to look decidedly nervous.

"Does the public transit system bother you?" Ferus asked her suddenly. "It bothers some people."

Surprise flicked across Ryn's face, but responded willingly enough. "I haven't used it often enough to develop an opinion."

That was as good an opening as any. "What is the public transportation like on Loreth?"

Ryn gave him a curious look, probably wondering why he had asked her out to discuss transportation systems. But she said, "There isn't one, not in the sense you mean. Most transportation on Loreth is on foot. The Clans do control some repulsorlift vehicles, but their use is not centrally regulated."

"But how can you run a planet without modern transportation," Ferus asked, surprised into tactlessness.

"We do not 'run' Loreth," Ryn said steadily. "We live there."

"Okay," said Ferus. "How do you maintain a society without sophisticated transportation systems?"

Ryn lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "Good communications?" She saw Ferus's look and gave in. "Look, you have to remember that the first non-natives to settle on Loreth were there for what you might call a meditative retreat. They wanted to get _away_ from the trappings of civilized society. Loreth is still ... like that. We have no power plants, no factories. We are a planet of farmers and herdsmen."

"I thought you were a planet of supercommandos," Ferus said.

A spasm of pain crossed Ryn's face and she looked away.

"That is what the war has done to us," she said softly. "All the noble families are warriors now. But we fight for the people, for the lifestyle of our fathers. For peace."

Ferus felt her sadness, but he wasn't sure what the appropriate response might be. "I'm sorry," he tried.

Ryn looked at him in surprise. "What for? You have done nothing wrong."

He couldn't help feeling that he had. "I didn't mean to bring up unpleasant memories."

Ryn shrugged again; she seemed to do that a lot. "I would be thinking about Loreth tonight in any case."

_Oh. Right._ "Because of your brother?" Ferus hazarded.

"Among other things."

"Tell me," he invited, taking Ryn's elbow to guide her off the speederbus as they came to a stop.

Ryn exhaled in a short puff of frustration, but Ferus didn't think it was directed at him. "It's what I told the Council," she said, "but it doesn't make sense unless you are Lorethan."

"Try me," said Ferus.

Ryn drew in a deep breath, looking out over the lights of Coruscant's cityscape as though searching for something. When at last she turned back, her face was clear.

"All right," she said. "It's like this ..."

She set off on a snarling path through feuds and alliances as they walked, her voice soft and musical against the city noise. Only gradually did Ferus realize that she was actually telling him a story, rather than giving him a lesson in Lorethan political history.

"...chose to fight," she was saying now. "But because he had betrayed the trust of his people, only the immediate household would stand with him. They were too few to hold the hall at all points, so they gathered in the central fire-room and there made a last stand. The warriors of the High King hacked and burned their way through the outer rooms, taking them in fire and blood.

"When Warlord Orun finally led the way through the last door into the hall where they stood, Maramé Ardel was weeping, clutching her son Freul to her blood-stained bosom. She flung the child aside and threw herself at Orun's feet, pleading for the lives of those who had followed Arkan Ardel out of family obligation. But Orun would promise only to bring all before the Council if Arkan surrendered, which Arkan would not do.

"In the end he refused to be taken alive, and Orun fought him hand-to-hand in the great hall itself, in the heart of Clan Ardel, and slew him before the hearth-pit at the feet of his wife and youngest son, the only one who had survived the final assault.

"The Council was loathe to overturn centuries of tradition, so the leadership passed uncontested to Freul. That is why Clans Orun and Ardel maintain a bitter feud, even when we have all a common enemy."

"Because it was an Orun who led the assault," Ferus said, partly to make sure he'd understood correctly and partly to prove he'd been listening. "How long ago was this?"

"Three generations," Ryn said. "Stevan is Arkan's grandson."

_Three generations_ wasn't actually a measurement of time in Ferus's book, but he nodded anyway. "And you think he's at the root of this stuff that has you so worried?"

"I really do." She scrubbed her face with her hands, and Ferus wondered when she'd last gotten a full night of sleep. "But I can't prove anything. Not yet, anyway."

That didn't seem quite right. "What do you mean, _not yet_?"

"Well ... I don't guess it's a secret." Ryn sounded unsure about that. "I commed Makesh. He and Evinne will meet me in the Temple at midnight. I hope. She is still in bacta now, but I think she will agree."

_And you're going to sleep when?_ Ferus wondered, only belated realizing that he sounded like Anakin on the transport to the Temple this morning: worried and trying not to show it, exasperated but patient, teasing Ryn into finishing her breakfast even though she insisted she wasn't hungry.

_Yes, you are,_ Anakin had said. _You're just too upset to notice._

That reasoning hadn't convinced Ryn any more than it had Ferus, but she had caught the edge of genuine concern in his voice and sighed and spooned up some more reconstituted eggs.

Ferus gave Ryn a sharp look now and said, "If Stevan is Evinne's brother, don't you think she might be in on the plot?"

Ryn shook her head distractedly. "That would be handy, but it's not her style. Evinne is straightforward. She might kill me outright, but she wouldn't lay this kind of a trap. Anyway, all I really need is to get face-to-face with her and as her point-blank what's going on. If she lies, I'll know."

* * *

Next up: the Jedi get in a little over their heads ...


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Ryn and Ferus are off on a "date," while sometime allies Evinne and Makesh are about to get mixed up in a plot that's big enough to engulf the Jedi Order!

**CHAPTER FOUR:**

_This is Ferus Olin: the rising star of the Jedi Order. The most dedicated Padawan. The most disciplined. The favorite of his teachers, the one who never screws up but always admits his mistakes. _

_ He has no friends. _

_ In the Jedi Temple, he is entirely alone. _

_ Because at the end of the day, all he knows is the Code. Friendship and intimacy are just abstractions to him; things he's heard of, even seen ... but nothing he has ever experienced. _

_ In his heart of hearts, he knows he never will. _

_ But because he is Ferus Olin, he does not let himself care. The Force is the only ally he will ever need. _

"Are you sure you'll be able to tell?" Ferus asked Ryn, cautiously. "I mean, reading other beings is hard, and -"

"I can tell," Ryn said. Her tone wasn't brusque, exactly; but there was something very _definite_ about it.

What Ferus knew about politics suggested that it wasn't wise for Ryn to tip her hand to Evinne any sooner than she had to, but he wasn't Lorethan, so he decided to go with the assumption that Ryn knew what she was doing.

(Years later, he will listen to a scrawny street kid with scruffy blue hair clear his throat and query anxiously, "Can we review ...?" and think, _Kriff. That's the age Ryn was when we met_, and be appalled at his own judgment. But at the time, it made sense.)

He said, "So. Assuming you're right, and Stevan Ardel is behind your brother's disappearance ... how would you find proof?"

He motioned her up a set of narrow stairs that wound around a cylindrical building, and Ryn frowned thoughtfully as she took the cue. "I think you might be going at it the wrong way," she said slowly. "I think maybe the question I want answered is: where is Stevan getting his money?"

"I thought you wanted to find your brother?"

"Finding Kit is good," said Ryn. "_Saving_ Kit is better. To do that, I need to know what the hell is going on and who is involved in this mess. Which brings us to Stevan and his sudden influx of cash. Stevan couldn't afford a worn-out shoe on his own. Even if Evinne is giving him every credit she gets, that's still not enough to explain his spending."

Ferus thought about asking what Evinne did, decided he didn't need - _want_ - to know. "So what you need is a slicer," he said instead.

"Someone who can get in and take a look at the books."

"Well, yeah," Ryn said. "But I'm not that good."

The lights on the landing turned Ryn's skin a pale, ghostly blue.

Ferus had a bad feeling he was about to get in over his head.

"No," he said slowly. "But I am." He reached out and opened the old-fashioned hinged door for her. "Dinner first."

The expression of surprised gratitude that dawned over Ryn's face in the light from the door cracked his face into a smile.

Evinne was still clearing the bacta out of her nose - she was discovering a real loathing for bacta tanks - when Makesh broke the news that Ryn had asked to see her.

Evinne dumped her bacta-coated facial tissue into the disposal unit and said, "Orun? What does she want now?"

Makesh shrugged. "She wouldn't discuss it over the comm. I told her you'd be out of the bacta by midnight. I didn't commit you to anything." He paused. "You _should_ still be in the bacta tank."

_I know. But I hate it in there._

"I'll go," Evinne said. "The curiosity would kill me otherwise. But she hasn't been on Coruscant twelve hours yet. What can she possibly have gotten into this time?"

Makesh shrugged again. "Your guess is as good as mine." She sensed his slight hesitation. "She always was getting into things."

"Oh." Evinne ran water over her bacta-sticky fingers, watched it swirl away down the drain. "I don't ... I never paid much attention to Areth'ryn when we were kids, except to think how inconvenient it was that she was alive and not totally worthless." The bitterness in her voice was acrimony for herself, a harsh reminder of everything she'd been and failed to be over the years. "Then I grew up a little and realized that just because my brother was a petty, spiteful bastard didn't mean I had to follow suit."

She could feel Makesh's eyes on her, quietly nonjudgmental.

"There wasn't much to notice," he said at last. "She was a quiet kid. Kept her head down, tried to stay out of the way."

That seemed like such a sad way to sum up a life. "I wonder what she wanted," Evinne mused. "For herself, I mean."

Something in the quality of Makesh's silence made her turn and look at him curiously.

He said, "I don't think she did. She wasn't the type to _wish_. Talking to her was ... spooky. Like there wasn't really a _person_ in there, just a lot of drive. Like she answered you because it was the right thing to do, not because she had anything to say. Always scared me a little."

That did sound like Ryn.

A more recent memory of her sometime-rival intruded: the avid, almost hungry look on Ryn's face, staring hopelessly at a man she knew was beyond her reach. _Anakin Skywalker. _ "Well," Evinne said softly, "she finally figured out what she wanted." _The first, the last, the only thing she's ever let herself want._ "Not that it's done her any good."

"Huh?"

"Skywalker," Evinne said, frustrated that she had to spell it out and then remembering that Makesh had come in at the tail end of their adventure with the Blades of Light, too late to witness the awful, wrenching longing Ryn had been trying to downplay the whole time. "She wants Skywalker." _And she can't have him._

Makesh was giving her a funny look, and Evinne realized that she must have sounded terribly maudlin. "Sorry," she offered with a rueful smile. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"About what Orun wants, apparently." His long fingers caressed the doorjamb. "But I'm curious."

"Yeah?"

"What do _you_ want?"


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: unabashedly maudlin character development, some first-date awkwardness, and a violent surprise.

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Inside the restaurant it was dim and close, probably what Coruscanti would call _cozy_. Ryn wasn't entirely convinced that she liked it, but Ferus seemed proud of himself for bringing her here, so she decided to assume it was somewhere he thought special.

She pushed her still-damp hair back from her face and looked around, trying to see not _dimly-lit restaurant_, but _place that Ferus likes._

_Okay._

"So," said Ferus, as the waiter - a Weequay, not a server droid - seated them, "it looks like we have until midnight. Are you going to interrogate me?"

_Right. The unfinished conversation._

Ryn took her seat and cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're awfully eager for punishment," she remarked.

"Just trying to be agreeable," Ferus said. But he sounded ... _anxious_.

_Ferus, what are you playing?_

Ryn took a menu from the waiter, knowing what was expected only because she'd seen this drill before, at Dex's. Loreth didn't have any equivalent of people in the Core called a restaurant; she'd learned later, from Obi-Wan, that Anakin had never been to one, either, when he first came to the Temple, and the first time he'd taken his new Padawan to Dex's, he'd offered to do the dishes. Anakin had blushed like a house afire, but Ryn had grinned at him and felt better, and then finally he'd given up on his embarrassment and grinned back, caught up for just a second in the camaraderie that no one else in the Temple, Coruscant-raised, would ever be able to share: the shared experience, or lack thereof, of two kids from the ass-end of nowhere. The memory made Ryn smile and loosened a little of her tension, and she was finally able to meet Ferus's eyes and say, "Okay. Since you're volunteering, you can tell me why you decided to take up espionage." She pointed at him with the menu. "_And_ why I shouldn't kick your ass for it."

Ferus lifted his eyebrows. "Are you so sure you could?"

_No, but Anakin could, and he'd love an excuse to try._

"I thought you wanted to be agreeable."

Ferus didn't quite wince. "Yeah. Okay. So I've been thinking about it a lot, and ... I think I just really wanted to know what friendship looked like. I mean, when there isn't a Jedi around."

Loyalty made Ryn say, "Anakin is a Jedi."

Ferus shot her a don't-even-try-it look. "He's different, and you know it. He didn't grow up in the Temple. Even with the best of intentions, he'll always have to work a little harder than the rest of us." His tone said, _And you're not helping._ That was probably true, but Ryn certainly wasn't going to turn her back on Anakin now. Besides, she felt strongly that if a Code couldn't accommodate beings who had had families and friends and loved them, then maybe there was something wrong with the Code.

And then she lost that train of thought, because Ferus blurted out, "But it's more than that. You're in love with him, aren't you?"

_This is going to be a problem, isn't it?_

A lot of defensive retorts flashed through Ryn's mind, some of them nastier than others and a lot of them involving what he could do with his damn Code.

She chose a less volatile truth: "I'm trying not to be."

Ferus's gaze turned sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

At the moment Ryn didn't care for Ferus's sympathy much more than for the Code, but she squelched her irritation. Ferus was as kind as he knew how to be; it wasn't his fault that he was trained from infancy to rigid adherence to a set of rules he'd never known how to question. She forced a smile, though it came out both strained and slightly rueful. "I know. But it's all right, really."

Ferus's expression shifted into _considering_, and Ryn realized he'd misunderstood her. "Not like that!" she exclaimed hastily, trying not to imagine the fallout if Ferus's assumption stood uncorrected. "I just meant ... he's not in love with me, and I respect that. It doesn't mean we can't be friends."

A frown chiseled its way between Ferus's perfectly-groomed eyebrows. "That sounds ... painful," he said slowly. "Is it?"

"Well ... yeah," Ryn sad. "It's called _unrequited love,_ and it's a bitch."

"Then why do it?" He sounded genuinely baffled.

_You don't read much poetry, do you, Olin?_

"Because I can't help the way I feel," Ryn said - frustrated again, as usual, by that word _love_ in Basic, the ambiguity of it, the way it could mean so many different things, and trying to talk around its imprecision. "And the friendship is worth the pain."

Ferus had a strange look on his face, as though struggling to name something he couldn't see very well.

He was interrupted by the waiter, who returned to see what they were in the mood for. Ryn let Ferus order for her, which seemed to please him.

_At least that's one thing that's gone right today._

He turned back to her when the waiter was gone, his brown eyes expectant. "I don't understand."

That seemed to be causing him some distress; Ryn took a sip of the water their waiter had brought on his way through and tried to figure out a way to help.

But in the end she didn't understand, either, and so she asked him, not hoping for much, "Which part?"

"Any of it!" Ferus said, as close to losing his cool as Ryn had ever seen him. "But I mean: why would you do that? Stay in a relationship that causes you pain?"

Ryn resisted the urge to pick her fork up an twirl it. She had only a hazy comprehension of Core-World table manners, but she thought she remembered hearing that one wasn't allowed to toy with the flatware.

"I told you already," she said, with as much patience as she could manufacture in a hurry. "_The friendship is worth the pain_."

"But _why_?" Ferus asked, and Ryn wanted to say, _I thought _I_ was supposed to do the interrogation._

Determined to be better than her impulses, Ryn shook off the nettled feeling and tried to answer Ferus. "It just _is_," she said, recognizing the inadequacy of her explanation. "Because Anakin is a good person, worth knowing. Because friendship -" this was a Basic word that instead of many too many things, meant too little: it couldn't convey all she meant, the way they were bound and knitted together "- is enriching and enlightening and fundamentally _good_. And because knowing Anakin has changed me. I couldn't go back now even if I wanted to. He woke me up inside, made me real."

"_Made you real_?" Ferus echoed, sounding alarmed. "I don't - what?"

_Right. Oh, hell._ "You didn't know me before, so it's hard to explain." She thought about it for a minute. "It's like ... most of my life, I was numb. I reacted to things when I had to, I answered questions and fought in battles and kept moving because it was the right thing to do, out of a sense of duty, but inside there was just this dull pain. It was like I was dormant inside, frozen. I was living on autopilot. I let duty take over and run my life. I didn't have anything else. When some people say they have no personal life, they are exaggerating. I'm not. For years ... I had nothing that was _personal_. It was like I had no subjectivity. No sense of identity outside of duty, what I _should_ be doing. Or ... not that I didn't have any, but that I didn't let it matter. I surrendered my personhood, my _self_, to the calling." She shrugged helplessly, not knowing whether Ferus would be able to glean anything from her tangled chain of words but not able to explain her existence any better. "Anakin woke the person inside."

She could still remember that stunned feeling, waking up - literally - on a cold stone floor and looking into Anakin's eyes, everything suddenly too bright and sharp and _real_, that sense that _oh, this is going to hurt._

And she had embraced it anyway. That moment had been like the edge of a cliff that divided her old life from her new one. Anakin's Presence behind her eyes had been vivid and warm and crackling with life and energy, and shocked her into a sharply, intensely personal reaction.

She'd thrown herself into life without brakes.

She'd stepped off that knife-edge instant with her eyes wide open, into freefall, into the rest of her life, letting go of her past and falling into pain and uncertainty and a straight-on rush into the undiscovered future, no time to flinch.

_Freefall._

Ferus must have seen some of that remembered feeling crossing her face, or maybe he could just sense it in the Force. Either way, she could see the beginnings of understanding lighten his eyes. "Okay. But why Anakin?"

_Good question._ "I don't know. I find his presence ... overwhelming. That first time, it was like being run through with an electrical current." She cast a cautious glance at Ferus's face. "You know I actually passed out the first time we met, right?"

"I'd heard," Ferus said. "So it's true?"

"It's true," Ryn confirmed. "And when I woke up ... I left that autopilot I'd been running on behind." She couldn't quite suppress a sigh. "It's a lot harder this way."

The waiter brought their plates, and they both tried their dishes and agreed that they were delicious before Ferus said, "It sounds like a fairytale." _The food?_ Ryn thought, confused, and then he added, "The prince wakes the princess."

Ryn chewed thoughtfully before answering. "Well, it wasn't love at first sight or anything," she said at last. "And the kiss didn't signal the happy ending, it was the beginning of the story. And I'm not so much the princess as the faithful sidekick. But except for, you know, _all that_ ..."

Ferus smiled at her over a forkful of some kind of vegetable whose name Ryn couldn't pronounce. "Why wouldn't you be the princess?" There was something in his voice, almost like ... the sense was gone from his aura before Ryn could identify it.

_Because Padmé got there first,_ Ryn thought, but she managed a small smile for Ferus. "I'm not the princess type." Because that was also true.

But Ferus looked confused. "What do you mean? You _are_ a princess."

_Oh. That._ "I'm not a leading lady, I guess," Ryn tried again.

Ferus's presence remained skeptical, and Ryn tried to forestall any commentary on her painfully inadequate explanation by taking another bite of her dinner and gushing over it.

Ferus grinned and blushed with shy pleasure, and Ryn thought she had him distracted, but then Ferus circled back, undeterred. "Why would you be a leading lady?"

"Because," Ryn said, "I've been someone's Second all my life." She thought of Anakin saying _you shouldn't play second stage for anyone, ever_ and bit down on the sharp pain in her chest, because if this was ever going to work, for any of them, she had to be stronger than this.

Ferus's eyes said he didn't understand, but Ryn felt she had explained herself more than enough for one night. "Anyway," she said, smiling to take the sting out of her words, "I'd say we were about even on interrogation for the evening, wouldn't you?"

Ferus flushed in a whole different way. "I'm sorry," he said at once. "I didn't mean to pry."

_Poodoo._ "Sure you did," Ryn said. "And that's okay. But the only way you can really learn about friendship and why it matters is to experiment by making friends." She pointed her fork at him, never mind Coruscanti manners. "Putting them to the question over dinner is _not_ the preferred method."

Ferus ducked his head. "Yeah. Okay. Point taken."

"On the other hand," Ryn said, drawing her words out into a teasing drawl - she'd learned that from Anakin and Obi-Wan's friendly bickering - "I think I owe you a rematch in the training dojo."

Ferus's smile was only in his eyes, but Ryn saw it. "Tomorrow morning?"

And that small reminder of everything she'd been trying to avoid because she couldn't fix it was enough to drop her fragile mood several notches. "Afternoon," she said dully, trying to forestall the plummet because she knew Ferus could sense it. "Those messengers from Loreth will be back in the morning."

Ferus had to notice that her mind wasn't really in the conversation, but he reached across and took her hand anyway, an unexpected gesture of comfort from a Jedi who undoubtedly thought the need for it was a weakness. "So I guess that means that if I want to do any slicing, I'd better get started," he concluded, and dropped her hand to scoop up the last bite from her plate. "Are you ready?"

Ryn glanced down at her half-full plate, feeling an odd rush of affection for this small imperfection: that with his Jedi upbringing and his impeccable manners, Ferus Olin still inhaled his food like any teenage boy. "Uh ... sure."

"Go go ahead and get some air on the landing while I get the tab."

"I can -" Ryn began, but Ferus shook his head.

"I come to this place so often because I know the owner," he said. "Don't worry about it."

So Ryn went out onto the landing, shrinking toward the shadows because a lifetime of habit told her not to highlight herself under the glowlamps. She shivered a little in the Coruscant night and tried not to think about the last time she had stood on a landing in this city and felt the chill, or the way Anakin had wrapped his cloak around them both and held her fast, the solid warmth of his shoulder against her cheek.

The door opened, showing Ferus's face, and Ryn stepped forward into the light to meet him.

And then Ferus reached out and jerked her off her feet, into her chest, and for one startled second Ryn thought he had managed to beat Revin at clumsy seduction strategies, but then the sizzle of a blaster hit registered and Ryn twisted as Ferus released her to grab his lightsaber and saw the smoking hole in the wall beside her.

They ignited their lightsabers in unison, Ryn's a more or less ordinary green and Ferus's an unusual yellow-amber. She remembered the last time she'd seen it in action - a matter of weeks, really, but it felt far longer - murmured, "Second time you've saved my life lately. A girl could get the wrong idea."

It was a pitiful attempt at humor, but Ferus grinned anyway, though he didn't take his eyes away from the darkness that had spawned that bolt of deadly energy.

"That I like you better alive?" he asked. "No, that's pretty much the right idea."

Ryn nodded appreciation, her eyes scanning the nearby buildings for any sign of where the blaster shot had come from. She tried to _feel_, too, but there was no focused animosity anywhere in the vicinity, and a hired killer might not give off any emotion strong enough to be recognizable over the constant background hum that was never really quiet on Coruscant.

And then the night erupted into fire from at least five directions at once, lancing through the smoggy air to leave multicolored afterimages in her vision.

_Surrounded,_ Ryn thought, a splintered second before Ferus snagged one arm around her waist and threw them both off the landing, into a night full of flashing lights and screaming airspeeders and danger panting hot against their backs.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Action scene junkies, here's your hit.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

They hit a durasteel ped-bridge that covered a span between buildings and rolled, blaster fire tracking them. Ferus used the Force to halt their progress, precariously, at the edge of the bridge and deflected fire with his lightsaber. Ryn rolled out from beneath him to do the same, kneeling under partial cover against a durasteel girder, hanging on with one hand while her heels hung out over emptiness; the sight of it made Ferus's stomach pitch, but if Ryn was nervous, he couldn't see it. The only thing showing on her face was grave determination.

"Go!" she yelled at him over the storm of blaster discharge and the rush of traffic. "It's me they want!"

Ferus had to agree with her premise - the Force was telling him the same thing: whoever was shooting was after her, specifically - but he wasn't about to concede her conclusion.

"Then they'll have to ask nicely!" he yelled back, hearing a scream as one of his deflected bolts returned to its source. "How many, do you think?"

"More than five," Ryn answered, "less than ten." She swung herself, one-handed, to the other side of the girder.

It was a smooth move, well-executed, but Ferus didn't have time to voice his appreciation. The shooters were good, and some of them were firing across air traffic lanes, so that Ferus had to worry about innocent passersby, which didn't seem to be a concern for their attackers.

_Figures._ He supposed people who went around trying to shoot young women off of buildings weren't the type to be overly distressed by the thought of a little collateral damage.

"We have to get down!" he told Ryn, edging closer to her position. "Drop a few levels and lose them."

Ryn shot him a single, frantic look. "_Down?_" she asked, incredulous, her lightsaber still whirling and spitting green fire. "Are you crazy? We'll be penned."

Her accent was so thick Ferus could barely understand her, her normally precise cadence running away into a lilt Ferus hadn't heard before. He took his best guess at her meaning and said, "We'll be fine! We can get lost in the crowd."

Ryn nodded once, briskly, and then deactivated her lightsaber and dropped like a stone. Ferus's breath caught, but then he saw that she'd caught herself on the lip of the ped-bridge, and was kicking to a flip that landed her easily on the balls of her feet, one level down.

She was already igniting her lightsaber again when Ferus shook his head, trying to dispel his sudden, leaping tension, and joined her.

"You know," he said over the snap-hiss of his own lightsaber, "when I said we had to get down, I didn't mean _instantly_. We could have made a plan first."

Ryn flicked him a glance over her shoulder. "I thought you had a plan. Drop and run."

"That's an _idea,_" Ferus said. "A _plan_ would include steps toward a clearly defined goal."

"Here's your goal: survive," Ryn said, flicking away blaster bolts in the casual way some people flicked away flies. "First step: Don't get shot."

She dropped again as she said it, a somersault this time, but now Ferus was ready for her and he followed suit.

He didn't even deactivate his lightsaber.

But when he landed, the bridge was dark and Ryn's voice said, "Shh! Shut that thing off, before they get a fix on us! And follow me."

It was true the hail of energy bolts had died - probably none of the shooters could get a good shot from this angle, and they were scrambling to reposition.

He snapped off his blade and followed the white blur of Ryn's face and hands - her only exposed skin - into the darkness.

"Where are we going?" he asked her softly.

"Down, unless you've changed your mind," Ryn murmured in reply, leading the way off the bridge and onto a narrow pedway that circled a building instead of stretching over space.

Ferus reached for his comlink. "I'll contact the Temple, and I -"

"No need," Ryn said, pushing open a door seemingly at random. "Anakin is on his way. I think Obi-Wan is with him."

Ferus remembered the way they'd traced Ryn when she let herself be kidnapped by the Blades of Light. "Oh," he said. It had certainly worked then. "Are you sure?"

"Reasonably," Ryn said, stepping cautiously over the threshold. She slid to one side, out of a direct line with the doorway, and ignited her lightsaber.

Ferus eased in, taking the other side. "What are we looking for?"

"Stairs. If they aren't easily seen from the door, that's a bonus."

The Force offered a nudge; Ferus strode across the floor as confidently as if he could see what lay ahead.

He stopped in front of plasteel door. It was locked, but locks presented no challenge to the Force; the intention formed in his mind and the door slid open. Lightsaber held aloft, Ferus looked down the narrow flight of stairs that lay beyond.

"The Force's own luck," Ryn muttered behind his shoulder. "If they don't know the territory, we've a good chance."

The sense of danger as growing more immediate again, coalescing into that sharp jangle that had made him throw Ryn to the floor of the landing earlier.

"Better hurry," he said, and started down.

Ryn hung back to haul the door shut - manually; she didn't seem to have much of a way with telekinesis, he'd noticed - and Ferus led the way down, on the theory that his more developed Force-abilities would alert him to danger ahead sooner than Ryn. She trailed behind, and Ferus could pick up a sort of hum of energy from her; she was searching for their pursuers, for the burst of triumph that might signal they'd found the trail.

But it was Ferus who sensed the niggle of danger at their backs.

"Trouble," he hissed to Ryn. "I think they've found it."

Ryn shook her head, a few steps above him. "I don't -" Her eyes widened. "Yes. They have. Open the door at the landing. Hurry!"

Ferus jumped the last five steps and shoved at the door before remembering that the Force would help him; he regained his concentration and the door slid back like butter.

"Go!" he breathed, and Ryn went without arguing, ducking through the doorway and dodging to the side, lightsaber out but inactive.

"Squatters," she informed Ferus sotto voce as he slipped through after her. "I can't tell how many - some kind of hive species, maybe."

_Hive species?_ Ferus thought. _What difference does that make?_

But they were huddled along the wall in groups, cowering back from the intruders; their nervousness seemed to confirm Ryn's theory that they were illegal residents seeking refuse in an abandoned room.

_We come in peace,_ Ferus thought at them, putting a flicker of Force-suggestion behind his intent.

The beings, whatever their species, relaxed as one, and Ferus led the way across the floor to another door onto the pedway, deactivating his lightsaber for stealth.

Silently they crept out onto the narrow walk that spiraled like a durasteel ribbon around the cylindrical tower. Ferus led the way down, ducking past any windows and keeping a sharp eye out for trouble. They had descended maybe four more levels, moving slowly but steadily, when Ryn tapped his shoulder. "Sh," she breathed, leaning forward so that her breath tickled his ear and washed against the his throat. "Anakin and Master Kenobi are very near."

Ferus froze, trusting Ryn's judgment on this absolutely. They crouched back against the wall together and waited.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

It was only a few seconds before Ferus could pick out the hum of an airspeeder over the background noise; it was deviating from the traffic lanes, and its approach vector marked it louder, faster, against the other sounds.

And then it was pulling flush with the pedway, an open cockpit design with Anakin at the controls.

"You called, milady?" he said to Ryn, offering a cocky grin. Ferus he ignored, which was rude but possibly a step up from the glare he sometimes got instead.

"Thanks for coming," Ryn said, hopping lightly into the speeder's backseat. She scooted over to make room as Ferus followed suit. "That was ... quite a bind."

"Bounty hunters," Obi-Wan said. "I counted six, and there could be more. I assume this has something to do with the news you received earlier?"

"Then you assume more than I can say," Ryn said. She sounded slightly shaky, and Ferus had to struggle to release his sense of guilt into the Force, because it had happened on his watch. "But I think it is likely. Except -" Ryn reached up to scrub her face with grimy hands "- it doesn't make _sense_. Why would anybody want me dead? It's far more efficient for Ardel to discredit me. he can't afford to turn me into a martyr."

"If you're dead, you can't go looking for Kit," Anakin said, pulling away from the wall.

"If you're dead, Stevan can tell whatever story he likes of you and you won't be around to refute him," Obi-Wan added. "Public opinion is -"

But they never got to hear what Obi-Wan had been about to say - _fickle_, maybe - because all of a sudden the speeder jerked as Anakin wrenched it out of the path of a streaking bar of light.

"Hold on!" he yelled, and sent the speeder into a steep dive.

He dropped them between two unevenly shaped towers, whipped back up about six levels, and dodged into a traffic lane, ignoring the honks and yells of the other drivers.

"That was a close one," Anakin said, sounding more exhilarated than nervous. "And they'll probably figure out where we went before long. The real question is: how are they fixed for transportation?"

"I don't know," Ryn said. "I never saw a vehicle. Ferus?"

Ferus shook his head. "No. But I was too busy watching their blaster bolts."

"You must learn to expand your awareness," Obi-Wan said. "It is not an easy skill to master, but it can mean the difference between life and death to a Jedi."

Ferus nodded. "Yes, Master Kenobi."

Ryn rolled her eyes. "Can't the lecture wait? We have more immediate problems."

"The time for a lesson is when it is _relevant_," Obi-Wan said, and Ryn sighed. Ferus saw Anakin toss her a quick grin over his shoulder; a brief moment of affectionate exasperation over Obi-Wan's stuffiness.

Ferus stretched out with his senses, feeling for any sign of pursuit. But there was nothing ... immediate ... only a vague sense of danger incompletely escaped, still prowling the edges of his mind. "Maybe Evinne will have some insights to offer?" he suggested.

Ryn was slouched forward, her head in her hands and her elbows resting on her knees. "I hope I can get something out of her," she mumbled. She shifted. "Can we go any faster, Anakin? I think my bacta patch has torn loose." There was an edge of pain in her voice that jerked Ferus sharply back in time, thirty-eight hours, and made him remember with the clarity of Jedi memory-enhancement Ryn's blood seeping between his fingers as he struggled to make the kriffing patch _stick_ ...

Anakin must have heard the same thing, because the airspeeder kicked into the high-pitched whine of overdrive and started weaving in and out of traffic, passing its companions in the lane as though this were a race.

Ryn stretched forward and trailed the tips of her fingers, lightly, along the back of Anakin's neck, just beside his Padawan braid, an odd little gesture that might have meant almost anything. But Ferus guessed that Ryn was using the contact to speak to him without words, something she didn't want the others to pick up on; whatever she whispered into his mind, Anakin eased off the accelerator slightly, and Ryn sank back into her seat.

"You look exhausted," Ferus told her, because he wasn't willing to dwell on her easy intimacy with Skywalker. He was still trying to grapple with her answers tonight: he'd asked her about their relationship, and he had the feeling he might have bitten off more than he could chew for a while. He knew he should accept, rather than resisting, but somehow he couldn't bring their friendship into focus, and it was ..._ bothering_ him.

Ferus really liked it when things were _clear_.

Which probably had something to do with his fascination with Ryn: he wanted to solve her mystery.

"There is no mystery," Ryn murmured beside him, and for a disoriented second Ferus thought he had spoken his thoughts out loud. Then he realized he'd just been broadcasting all over the place.

He shot a sharp glance at Ryn, leaning back with her head tilted against the seat, and she smiled without opening her eyes. "You can't _solve_ people, Ferus. All you can do is get to know them better." She shifted again, and Ferus felt an echo of her pain. "Learn their pattern."

Ferus wanted to ask her what that meant, but Ryn was too tired and worried and obviously in pain; he'd have to ask her later, if they ever had a later. it wasn't the Jedi way, in general, to put things off - they were supposed to take each opportunity as it came - but it _was_ the Jedi way to be patient. Maybe that applied here.

Ryn reached one hand across the seat, still not opening her eyes, and clasped his. "You'll figure it out," she said quietly, and relaxed into the seat.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Shameless Obi mush all around! And the final paragraphs of this chapter include a nod to Anakin and Obi-Wan's conversation on entering the Outlander in AotC.

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Anakin insisted on physically carrying Ryn from the transport pool to the medcenter, while Ryn insisted it wasn't necessary and Ferus kept offering to take turns. Obi-Wan followed close behind the three of them and tried not to choke on the testosterone. He also tried not to scold, remembering his own younger days: some instincts were harder to eschew than others, and despite his Jedi training it had been a long time before he lost that reflexive impulse to try and impress attractive young women.

Satine, not Siri, came to mind and he thrust the memory ruthlessly aside to focus on the present.

Anakin was carrying Ryn up the stairs without so much as a trickle of the Force, apparently just to prove he could.

Ferus was explaining how, really, an even division of labor was the best teamwork and the top of the stairs was nearly exactly halfway to the medcenter, so if Anakin would just put Ryn _down_ ... (He had forgotten, evidently, to include Obi-Wan in the "team".)

Ryn was watching both of them with a puzzled frown.

Obi-Wan felt a mild stab of bittersweet satisfaction on her behalf. If Ryn's path has been different - if she had not chosen a life of duty that stranded her in the Jedi Temple - she would undoubtedly have learned long since what it meant to have members of the opposite sex scrambling for her notice. She had not just beauty, but _presence_: in any group of humanoids, she must have taken her agemates by storm. And aside from this standing rivalry with each other, Anakin and Ferus both clearly wanted to earn her admiration. It was a small taste of the myriad small adolescent victories she'd missed by coming to the Temple.

At the top of the stairs, Ryn tightened her arms around Anakin's neck and pulled herself up to whisper something in his ear.

Whatever she said, it made the bak of Anakin's neck blush a deep red, vivid against the blond of his Padawan braid.

"If you want to walk, just say so," he said stiffly.

Ryn grinned at him, unrepentant. Obi-Wan could barely pick out the white marks of strain that haunted the corners of her mouth. "I'm only kidding," she assured him. "Well, at least half."

Anakin made a soft growling noise, and Ryn settled her head back on his shoulder. "Okay, maybe a quarter."

And then, finally, Anakin laughed, abashed but no longer anxious, and Obi-Wan felt the tension uncoil within him and knew that that was what Ryn had been going for, all along.

There were days when Obi-Wan didn't think he would ever understand their relationship, the odd little harmony they struck with each other ... and then there were the days when he _knew_ he never could.

Ferus gave up on becoming an alpha-male and jogged on ahead to alert the Temple's healers of their arrival; he came trotting back a minute later with a grin.

"The Healer on duty says she can't believe you're injured _again,_" he told Ryn, not bothering to hide his amusement.

"I have an active lifestyle," Ryn said loftily; but Obi-Wan could see her white-knuckled grip on Anakin's shoulder, belying her attempt at levity.

He repressed a sigh, sympathizing with the Healer: _Ryn, you're injured _again_?_

"This time it's not serious," she was telling his Padawan.

"You need to be _careful_," Anakin told her, his voice tight.

_As though you have any room to talk._

"I'm trying," Ryn said, but Anakin was unsatisfied.

"Try _harder_."

Ryn snorted as they passed through the entrance to the medcenter. "Yes, Master."

Anakin set Ryn gently down on the gurney one of the Padawans pushed at him, easing her back to lie down when she tried to sit up. "Sh. Easy. You've been through a lot."

"Nothing a little bacta won't fix," Ryn said. There was something almost tender in her voice, as though he were the one hurt. "You worry too much."

Anakin pushed Ryn's hair back from her face. "Master Obi-Wan says I don't worry at all," he said distractedly.

"You worry about the wrong things." Ryn pulled his hand away from her cheek. Obi-Wan caught the fractional glitch in her movement as she started to press a kiss into his palm and caught herself before she could do more than shift her grip to his long fingers. Slowly, painfully, she let him go.

"I'll be right here," Anakin told her, his tone betraying a need to help that was too sharp and too desperate and not nearly surrendered enough to the will of the Force.

"No," Ryn said, waving away the Padawan who was trying to activate the gurney's transport mode. "I just need some bacta. If you really want to help me, there's something else you can do."

"What?" Anakin asked, bending over her, too intimate. Obi-Wan was surprised he didn't say _of course, Ryn, anything._

"Meditate," Ryn said. "See if you can unsnarl this mess. I can't sense the currents of the Force the way you can, but I don't like all these coincidences flying around. The ricochet is like to kill me." She dragged in a deep breath, looking older than her years. "I'm missing something, and it's important."

"All right," Anakin said. "I'll help. I'll meditate all night if I have to."

Obi-Wan caught the edge of Ryn's wry smile. "You could use a _little_ moderation," she chided gently. "Try and pace yourself, huh?"

The duty Padawan was tugging at the end of the gurney again, and this time Ryn didn't protest. She lifted one hand in mute salute and lay back, letting them cart her away to the ward for whatever treatments she had coming this time.

Obi-Wan laid one hand on his Padawan's shoulder. "Come, Anakin. Let's leave the Healers to their work."

Anakin took a deep breath, let it out; Obi-Wan could feel the shiver in the Force as Anakin released his anxiety into it. "Of course, Master. I - I should get started right away."

Obi-Wan allowed himself a teasing grin. "I think this is the first time I've seen you eager to meditate."

Anakin looked abruptly ... crestfallen, like a child who expects praise, only to be told he has done exactly the wrong thing. "I do try, Master."

_So eager to please, so easily wounded. _

Obi-Wan squeezed Anakin's shoulder with a brief wash of affection before dropping his hand. "I know, Padawan." And perhaps the need to do something for his friend would teach Anakin the importance of meditation as every lecture in the galaxy never could. "Let's go."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: mush, angst, and a plot twist - oh, my!

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

Ryn emerged from the treatment room - where the Healers had decided to let their Padawans practice Force-healing techniques on her leg instead of just smearing it with bacta, and she was feeling pretty bitter about the whole experience - into the lobby of the medcenter to find Ferus waiting for her.

"Ferus!" she said, surprised, as he stood to greet her. "I wasn't expecting - I mean, you didn't have to wait. Have you been sitting here all this time?"

Ferus blushed; he was doing that a lot lately. "It's only been about half an hour."

It had felt like a lot longer, but Ryn figured that wasn't terribly relevant. "It was very sweet of you, just the same," she said, mostly out of a wicked impulse to see just how red his face could turn before his Jedi training caught up with his feelings.

Almost purple, as it turned out.

"Anyway," Ryn said, grinning at him, "except for the awkward dinner conversation, the firefight, the trip through the slums, and the unplanned detour to the infirmary, it was a lovely evening. I'm thinking next time we should do something _really_ spectacular."

Ferus's eyes widened and then, suddenly, his tension eased. He didn't laugh - Ferus almost never laughed - but his eyes lit, creasing at the corners. "Oh, I don't know," he said, smiling at her with those eyes. "We'd have to work pretty hard to top tonight."

That sounded uncomfortably like _let's not do it again_. Ryn braved a smile for him anyway. "Okay," she said, and her voice almost didn't shake at all. "But I ... uh ... I hear the evening isn't complete until you walk the girl home."

"I know," Ferus said. "That's why I waited."

"Oh." Ryn could feel her cheeks heating, which seemed only fair as she'd been making Ferus blush all night. "So we should ... um ..."

"Yeah," Ferus agreed softly. He offered her his arm and Ryn slipped her left hand into the crook of his elbow.

At the door of her quarters, Ryn hesitated, facing Ferus with her back to the still-closed door.

"Um," she said. "I think this is the part where I should invite you in for caf. But I have -"

"Your meeting," Ferus said. "I understand." He flicked back the gold streak that always wanted to hang into his face. "So ... let's just take it slow, okay? I mean, if - if you - we could - if you'd still ... agh ..."

Ryn felt a smile pull up one corner of her mouth. "Slow sounds good," she said, and watched Ferus's uncertainty dissolve into pleasure.

"Slow," he repeated. "Rematch tomorrow."

"I hope so," Ryn said, and Ferus stepped back, raised his hand in a brief, stiff wave, and then strode off down the corridor.

Ryn stood there for half a minute, smiling wearily at nothing, before she remembered to open the door.

* * *

She went into the kitchen to make caf for the visitors who would be arriving (she hoped) in half an hour - not that anyone would want to actually _drink_ caf that she made, but it was polite to offer.

A note was stuck to the conservator door, a small scrap of flimsiplast. Ryn pulled it free and studied the familiar scrawl, legible only because she knew the hand so well:

_Breakfast in bed. No arguments. Anakin._

On a hunch, Ryn pulled the conservator door open. Fruit, cheese, eggs, blue milk ... yes, Anakin had stocked it while she was out.

For one awful moment, Ryn thought she might actually cry. She stood there, shaking, with the scrap of flimsi pressed to her heart, until finally reality filtered in and she realized she was standing in the middle of the floor clutching a note like some melodramatic holonovel heroine.

She still went to the bedroom and slipped Anakin's note under her pillow before returning to the caf problem.

* * *

Whatever else you could say about Evinne Ardel, she was punctual. The door chimed at 23:58, Coruscant Standard Time. Ryn swallowed her fear and went to answer it, her heart pounding painfully in her throat.

"Areth'ryn," Evinne began, sounding decidedly stiff and maybe a little put out, and then she got a good look at Ryn's face. "Gods, Ryn, what's wrong?"

_What isn't?_

"Come in," Ryn said, stepping back. "Maybe you'd better sit down."

Makesh followed Evinne inside, and Ryn offered them seats, which they took, but when she started to bring them caf and cheese, they balked.

"For pity's sake, Ryn, just get to the point," Evinne said. "We didn't come here for a midnight snack."

Ryn sat down the plate of cheese. "Right." She sank to a seat opposite Evinne and took a deep breath, trying to focus her senses on the older girl, alert for any hint of deception or duplicity, any shadow of guilt. "What do you know about my brother's disappearance?"

Evinne blinked, regrouping. "He's been running border patrol for the last month or more. Just over two weeks ago, he was engaged in a skirmish. The Chiss look like likely candidates, since he was out in their direction, but I haven't heard any confirmation. When last I spoke with Loreth, there had been no word since."

"How long ago was that?"

"They day before I left for the Borsana system."

"And do you have any knowledge of where Kit is being held?"

"_Held_?" Evinne repeated. "We don't even know that he's _being_ held. He could be flying under comm silence. He could be _dead_, killed in action. We don't _know_ - wait. You've heard something, haven't you? What?"

"Messengers from Loreth were waiting for me when I arrived yesterday," Ryn said, her eyes hard on Evinne's. "They were from neither the High King nor the Council, but they were very insistent that I return home." She tightened her focus, a little too much; though Evinne held herself utterly still, Ryn saw the flinch of pain in her eyes. "Evinne, I have to ask. Is this Stevan's doing?"

Evinne signature roiled with unease and the sharp taste of fear, but there was no suggestion of deceit, no sense of _hiding_ anything. "I know nothing of these messengers," she said slowly, "and my brother has not spoken to me of Kit's absence, except to say that it serves Clan Ardel well, which will not surprise you." She tilted her head, spearing Ryn with her gaze. "Are you saying you think he facilitated a kidnapping? Because I have to tell you, he doesn't have that kind of power."

"Do you have an alternate theory?"

"I'm not much on theory," Evinne said. "If you're worried about Kit, I suggest we take action. Go find him."

Ryn unclenched her teeth with an effort. "I can't go _anywhere_. My mission is here, on Coruscant."

Evinne gave her a wild-eyed look. "But he's your brother!"

"Who wanted me exactly where I am," Ryn answered sharply. "If the messengers are from Stevan, leaving seems to play right into his hands, and I hope you won't take offense when I say there is nothing I want to do less."

Evinne frowned. "But Kit -"

Ryn came to her feet a half-second before Anakin burst through the door.

"Ryn!" he exclaimed, locking gazes with her across the room. "I know who has Kit! It's Granta Omega!"


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Between Granta Omega, murky Lorethan loyalties, and a few concerned Jedi, things can get complicated in a hurry.

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

A Jedi should never be taken by surprise, but Anakin didn't register the presence of visitors in Ryn's quarters until Evinne stood and turned to face him, her eyes sharply searching.

Ryn got there first. "Granta Omega?" she echoed. "How can you be sure?"

"Because it feels right," Anakin said. _That's right; I'm a Jedi._ "The Force keeps showing me the past our meeting with Omega, and a place of rolling hills, forests and nerf-pastures. The people who live there look like you and Evinne. Is that Loreth?"

Ryn's pale face was bloodless. "It's Clan Ardel's lands, in the Continent. But, Anakin - we don't look alike."

"To outsiders we do," Evinne said, her eyes never leaving Anakin's face. "Did the Force show you Kit?"

Anakin glanced at Ryn before answering; she gave him a single wordless nod that he took to mean _Evinne's okay._

"I'm not sure," he said, keeping one eye on Ryn, just in case. "I saw a young man with dark hair, but from what I've seen, that could be half of your population."

"No, we're mostly blond," Ryn said, distractedly.

"Try to focus," Evinne told her sharply. And to Anakin: "Could you tell anything about where he was?"

"A small dark room," Anakin said. "I think there was window. And he was wearing a Force-inhibitor collar."

"Damn," Evinne said. She turned to Ryn. "Look we _need_ you to track him. You know him much better then I do, you can sense him from _here_ ... and whoever is holding him, it _can't_ be on Loreth, regardless of what Skywalker saw. There would be no way to keep it quiet. _Someone_ would have to feel him."

"Yes, probably," Ryn agreed. Her eyes were wide with fear and pain. "But I'm a _hostage_, Evinne - I can't go anywhere without the Council's permission. And I won't jeopardize the mission here, not even to save Kit. He would not want that."

"Shorty, think about what you're saying -"

"I _have_ thought about it! I've known something was wrong for weeks! But I _can't_, you understand? I can't risk everything Kit put himself on the line for, even assuming I could get away clean. He knew the stakes. He made the choice already, to give himself for Loreth. I don't have the right to take that away from him."

"No, _you_ gave your life," Evinne said, "not for Loreth, but for the sake of the galaxy. Kit's life is pretty much what it always was, except that now he doesn't have you to lean on."

"It was never like that," Ryn protested, brutally offended; but Anakin saw the color stain her cheeks and guessed that it must have been at least a little like that.

Now seemed like as good a time as any to interrupt.

"Um, Ryn?"

Ryn stirred, as though she'd forgotten he was there. Anakin figured there had to be a first time for everything.

"If what you said to the Council earlier is true - and if I'm right about Granta Omega - this is a Jedi problem, too," he insisted. "I've already told Obi-Wan. We're going before the Council first thing in the morning." He swallowed. "You'll need to be there."

"Oh." Ryn almost managed to mask the wave of nausea that said _this is one thing more than I can handle tonight_. "Of ... course. Is there a time?"

"Oh-six-hundred," Anakin said. "I know it's early, but I thought we could do breakfast after."

"The messengers will be back," Ryn reminded him.

"They can wait," Anakin answered. "You're exhausted. And I know all these things have to be done, but you need rest and a decent meal, too." He scowled at her. "Speaking of which, you should be in bed _now_. What -"

"I asked Evinne to come," Ryn said quickly. "I had hoped that she might know something about Kit, but it seems that her brother has not shared his plans with her, if indeed he has any. This new information about Granta Omega puts things in a new light. If you're right, Stevan may only be taking advantage of the situation to get whatever he can out of it."

"Forgive my ignorance," Evinne said, not sounding apologetic at all, "but who is this Granta Omega?"

Ryn looked at Anakin. She knew the story, of course, but she wasn't going to tell an outsider without his permission, which Anakin appreciated.

Anakin said, "He's a ... very powerful man. He is what Obi-Wan calls a void - his presence causes hardly a ripple in the Force, so he is very hard to detect. And he is obsessed with the Force and the people who can use it. Since the Jedi will have nothing to do with him, we believe he is attempting to attract the notice of the Sith."

Evinne said, "But if he could find a group of Force-sensitive beings who belonged to neither camp ..."

"That would be an ideal situation for him, yes."

Evinne turned her piercing blue eyes on Ryn. "If he has found Loreth, then he will need local support to stay there, and it makes Stevan's involvement much more likely. He might not have either the power of the guts to move against Kit directly on his own, but if this Omega offered Clan Ardel an advantage ..."

"I'm sorry, Evinne," Ryn said, wincing at something Anakin didn't quite get. "I did not want to hurt you. But I needed to know if you were involved."

"I'm not," Evinne said. "And you can search my mind to prove it if you feel you need to. But what I'm thinking is that if Stevan is mixed up with your void villain - and I'll admit right now I don't understand that - then he is in over his head. Ambition is one thing, but we have never acted this way, kidnapping and hiding and sending false messengers. It is not our way."

Ryn nodded, and Anakin guessed that they were now in the somewhat hazy area of what Lorethans considered appropriate behavior, especially between clans. Ryn had tried to explain the basics to him, more than once, but it had always been difficult and Anakin had never felt he had more than a very shaky grasp of the principles involved.

He said, "Maybe Evinne should be here tomorrow when those messengers come back?"

The girls looked first at him, then at each other, in obvious surprise - Makesh, behind Evinne's shoulder, maintained his expressionless calm - and then began an intense and rapid plan that Anakin didn't follow very well, because it was all in Lorethan.

At the end of it, they turned as one to face him and Evinne said, "Excellent idea, Skywalker. I will see you in the morning. In the meantime ... may I suggest that perhaps you should stay the rest of the night with Areth-ryn? Your greater knowledge of the Temple must make you a better protection than either Makesh or I could offer."

"_Protection?_?" Anakin said, alarmed. His eyes sought Ryn's automatically. "You didn't tell me you were in danger _here_!"

"I'm not," Ryn said, disgruntled. "Evinne is matchmaking again. You do _not_ have to stay." Anakin caught the glint of worry as her eyes shifted back to Evinne. "But ... you don't really think Stevan would send commandos, do you?"

"Probably not, no," Evinne said. "But this Granta Omega might, if he decides one Orun isn't enough for whatever he wants. And attacking you _inside the Temple_ would certainly attract the attention of the Jedi, the Sith, and anyone else not hiding under a rock."

"Don't forget those bounty hunters," Anakin aded, remembering the tight-coiled fear in Ryn's presence.

"_Bounty hunters_?" Evinne repeated, staring at Ryn. "You didn't say anything about bounty hunters!"

Ryn's face pinked. "Earlier this evening. I left the Temple to get dinner with Ferus Olin, and someone either knew where we were going - which I didn't - or followed us there, which in retrospect seems more likely. There was a firefight, and then Anakin and Master Kenobi arrived to rescue us."

"Hm," Evinne said. "Maybe Makesh and I should stay as well, just in case."

"No," Ryn said. "We are inside the Temple, as you say, and I am sure Anakin will do a fine job of protecting me." She shot him a grateful look from under her lashes as she said it, unintentionally seductive, and Anakin swallowed hard.

_Not Ryn,_ he thought. _Don't go there._

_

* * *

_

_Next up: About that whole celibacy thing ... _


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: This chapter went through several incarnations and tortured its author for several days. Special thanks to Kelaria for aiding, abetting, and giving feedback during the process.

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

When Evinne and Makesh had gone, suddenly it was just the two of them, genuinely alone in a way they hadn't been in what felt like forever.

So in spite of everything, Ryn grinned in relief, meeting Anakin's eyes over the back of the sofa. _Small favors,_ she thought. _I'll take them._

She eased her shields, finally, with a gasp of relief for the sudden release of psychic tension.

Anakin took the invitation this presented and relaxed his own shields - different, built somehow with the Force - and probed her gently, cautiously penetrating her mind.

Ryn let her eyes drift shut in pleasure. "I swear you've gotten better."

"Nah. You just missed me."

Ryn smiled. "So I did." She tickled him back and grinned at his response.

"Mmm ..."

The relief of not having to work at maintaining barriers - the heady yet familiar feeling of Anakin in her mind - was better than sleep. Unfortunately, Ryn still needed plenty of that, so she sighed and dragged her eyes open again.

"Shower, then bed," she told Anakin. "You need anything?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine. I'm going to com Obi-Wan and update him."

"Okay."

Ryn left him standing in the living area to grab clean underwear and hit the shower.

* * *

In the conspicuous absence of more Coruscanti-appropriate nightwear, Ryn stuck to her usual bedtime uniform of black undies and a lot of white skin.

She felt some trepidation about Anakin's reaction - she kept seeing his face watching the Podracing holos on the way to Borsana Prime, all over again - but she wasn't crazy about wearing her clothes to bed, even if half of them weren't still in the 'fresher unit on the deep-cleaning cycle (they'd taken a beating during her unexpectedly active evening). And if Anakin couldn't manage to accept her in her own skin ... _Then I might as well learn it now as later._

She took a deep breath for courage and palmed open the 'fresher door.

"Anakin," she began tentatively. She'd been going to say something - assuming he didn't just start yelling - about going to bed, but then she lost her focus, because Anakin came to his feet like a soldier coming to attention, uttering an inarticulate noise somewhere between fear and appreciation.

His signature was ... enthusiastic ... so Ryn decided he probably wasn't offended this time.

"If that means 'wow', then ... thanks."

Anakin said something, actual words this time, albeit not in Basic. Fortunately Ryn's limited Huttese was concentrated heavily in the range of colorful euphemisms; she knew enough to recognize the expression as meaning, roughly: _Fuck yeah_.

In the long term, things still looked pretty grim.

In the short term, however ... Anakin liked her (mostly) naked.

_Small favors. I'll take them._

But she couldn't stay here savoring the moment forever. For one thing, they really did have things to do, and for another, that was bound to get awkward sooner rather than later. So: "We should really get to bed," she said dutifully. "We have time for a couple of two-hour shifts each."

Anakin finally made his way back to intelligible Basic: "I'll stay here. Keep watch."

Ryn shook her head. "If something _does_ happen tonight, I'd rather we were in the same room. I'll sleep on the floor if -"

"No," Anakin said quickly. "The bed is fine. I'll take the first shift, watching."

Ryn eased her weight from one foot to the other. "Are you sure? Because I can -"

"It's fine," Anakin repeated, his voice a little tight. "Let's just ... do it."

Ryn nodded and swallowed, heading for the bedroom.

She felt Anakin's eyes on her back - okay, mostly on her ass - all the way to the bed.

But when he kicked off his boots and stretched out on top of the covers beside her, she sighed and sank gratefully into his arms and forgave him all his prudery, because he was warm and strong and _Anakin_, and his presence was quite possibly the only thing in the galaxy that could bring her any comfort tonight.

"Thank you for coming," she whispered into his tunic. "I know you don't feel ... entirely comfortable ... but I'm glad you're here."

"Of course I'm comfortable," Anakin said, lying bravely and not very effectively. "Now who's worrying too much?"

"_Anakin_," Ryn said reproachfully. "I know you ... you think ... well, maybe you don't know quite what to make of me. The way I look at sex. But I ... I mean, I'd never ... what I'm trying to say is, I know how _you_ feel about it, and I respect that. You can trust me."

"Ryn, stop. No, you don't." Ryn started to sit up, her mouth dry, too offended to even form the words _how dare you_ in her mind; but Anakin's grip tightened on her, not letting her go anywhere. "Don't know how I feel," he clarified, and Ryn, still tense, stopped straining against his hold on her shoulders. "It's not you I don't trust." His voice veered off into miserable: "It's me."

_Huh?_ Ryn frowned at his tunic, trying to make sense of this conversation. "I don't understand," she said decidedly. "You're the one who doesn't want to have sex. Why the hell would you try anything?"

Anakin didn't quite flinch, but she felt him tense. "I know I _shouldn't_," he said deliberately. "I never said I didn't _want_ to."

_Oh. _Oh._ Ohhhh ..._ "Oh," Ryn said finally, her voice very small and hoarse. She levered herself up on an elbow under Anakin's relaxing grip to risk a cautious glance at his face. "I thought you didn't ... I mean ..."

"Yeah, well, I do." Anakin shifted a little. "It's complicated, okay? And ... it's late. So ..."

"Sleep," Ryn said quickly. "Right. Timing. Just ... wake me up when it's my turn to watch, okay?"

"Yeah," Anakin said, pulling her close again. "Okay."


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: I really struggled with this chapter, and re-wrote it a bunch of times. I ALWAYS love hearing from readers, but feedback here is especially appreciated. If you have thoughts, please share them! I'd love to know what worked/didn't work/how it made you see the characters.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Anakin woke to realize two things: he had failed in his duty by falling asleep in the first place, but since he had lived to regret it, Ryn must have been right about there being no danger.

Speaking of Ryn ... she stirred beside him, shifting against his body with the supremely sensual unselfconsciousness one expected from a Lorethan sex kitten but not, generally speaking, from one's best friend. "Mmmm. Anakin. Isht m'turn?"

He thought she was asking whether it was her turn to watch, which it blatantly was, but she looked so peaceful, lying there in the sheets ...

He freed one hand to smooth the dark mass of curls back from her face - her slept-in hair was rather wild - and whispered, "Not yet."

"Mmmph." Ryn snuggled closer, which was a problem because he was getting hard, thinking about her naked under the sheet.

_She's wearing underwear, Skywalker. Don't get any ideas._

He shifted Ryn's hp a few degrees to the left to get some breathing room and was distantly glad that Obi-Wan wasn't here to witness his predicament. He'd probably try to give him The Talk again, and Anakin wasn't sure either of them could handle a repeat performance.

_If you find yourself struggling to maintain focus ..._

_ Then hell, no, I will not "suggest an appropriate time and place to pursue mutual satisfaction." What kind of poodoo is that?_

Ryn stirred again, reminding him of everything about her body he'd been trying to forget. _The Force is testing me. Or something._ "'Sa matter?"

She looked so young, half-asleep: so delicate. "Sh," Anakin murmured into her hair. "Nothing." he tightened his hand on her waist, making her settle closer again, tucking her head under his chin. "Just sleep."

* * *

Something felt good. Really, really good.

Sleep was nice, but that good feeling beckoned. Ryn surfaced with a soft murmur of longing: _yes yes more ..._

Anakin trailed his warm, calloused fingers down her back. "Ryn? Ryn, _hatari_, it's time to wake up."

Ryn couldn't help it; she whimpered softly and arched her his fingers. "_Anakin ..._" _Please, please kiss me. Take me now, I don't care. I'll make it good, I swear, I'm already wet for you, I want you so much ..._

Anakin jerked his hand away as though he'd been stung and backed slowly toward the edge of the bed.

Which was when Ryn realized that her shields were practically nonexistent and her thoughts were leaking all over the place.

A red wash of humiliation rose up to drown her and Ryn let her face drop forward into the pillow, cursing.

"It's not so bad," Anakin told her, trying awkwardly to pat her shoulder without actually touching her skin.

Ryn was past comforting platitudes. "_I begged you to fuck me,_" she growled through her clenched teeth. "How the hell is that _not so bad_?"

Ryn could feel Anakin's spike of panic; his shoulder-pats picked up speed. "Ah, well - we're friends."

_No, I'm pretty sure you have to be able to look your friends in the eye. _

Anakin hastily changed tactics, either picking up her feelings or simply realizing it wasn't the best approach. "And it was, um, kind of flattering."

"_Flattering_?" Ryn repeated doubtfully, but the pillow swallowed most of her utterance.

"I - look, Ryn, I'm just trying to say that ... that I don't care, and there's no need to feel embarrassed. I love you anyway."

_No need to be embarrassed?_ "Easy for you to say," Ryn muttered thickly.

"Ryn, _please_ ..." Anakin grabbed her shoulders without warning, wrenching her onto her back.

Before she could ask what he thought he was doing, he had covered her lips with his and his tongue was invading her mouth.

She wondered distantly with what was left of her concentration what point Anakin thought he was proving - given his less-than-romantic approach, she kind of guessed that maybe he wasn't doing this just because he found her irresistible - but it could only have been a few seconds before, abruptly, Anakin made a soft noise of discovery, and his touch gentled, and suddenly he was kissing her for real.

He pulled her closer, cradling the small of her back with widespread fingers. Ryn arched in relief, threading her own fingers through his hair, gasping her appreciation, not entirely coherent.

Of course it was Anakin who broke the kiss, pulling slowly free with a last swirl of his tongue that was almost like a benediction, his hand sliding down to tighten almost painfully on her hip.

He was breathing as raggedly as she was, which was some comfort.

"Ryn ..." he said hoarsely, and trailed to a halt, evidently at a loss for words to form the rest of his thought.

"Don't talk," Ryn whispered, tugging him gently back down to her.

Anakin complied at first, sliding one arm behind her shoulders, sinking back into their kiss, deeper than before, moaning low as they found a rhythm together, the urgency fading away into tenderness. He gasped when Ryn tugged his tunic free of his Jedi leggings and touched bare skin, gasped and shuddered and ran his hands over her. "Ryn ..."

Ryn shivered at the throaty desire in his voice, arching under him again. "Anakin ..."

She slid one hand between their close-pressed bodies, under the waistband of his leggings, to cup him and squeeze gently. "_Anakin_..."

He grabbed her wrist and pushed her hand roughly away, but that wasn't what bothered her.

Anakin's signature was suddenly dark and gibbering with fear.

Not just fear: stark terror, some nightmare dread.

Of some horror which, in the absence of other possibilities, looked like _her_.

It was Ryn's turn to jerk away. Her reaction was so sudden that she didn't even realize she'd moved until she found herself hunched on the far side of the bed, clutching a pillow to her naked chest. "_Anakin_?" Her voice was high and shaking, as terrified as he'd felt and a lot more guilty. "What - I don't - _Anakin_?"

"I need a shower," Anakin said roughly, getting up. Ryn noted, dully, that he kept his back to her as much as possible.

"But I - Anakin, _wait_, I'm so sorry, I had no idea ... Anakin, _please,_ just ..."

But finally she couldn't think of anything that he needed to _just_ do, except sit down and explain to her what the hell had just happened, which seemed like an unfair demand to make when she'd clearly just frightened him out of his wits. She subsided into the silence of shame and let him go.

* * *

_Oh no. Oh no no no no no._

Anakin didn't jump into the shower with all his clothes still on, but it was a near thing. He yanked his tunic over his head and shucked his pants at the last second and leapt under the spray, hot enough to sting as it hit his skin.

_Ryn. Oh, Force, _Ryn _..._

Stars knew what she must think of him now. He'd practically jumped her, right there in her bedroom. If they'd kept going a couple of seconds longer, he'd have disgraced himself all over the sheets.

Okay, so some of that guilt was irrational. Anakin knew that. Ryn had done her fair share and then some - sticking her hand down his pants had been her idea. But he hadn't stopped her, not when he should have, at the beginning. _Hell, I shouldn't even have _started_ any of this._

But aside from the fact that his behavior was clearly reprehensible from the beginning, there were some real problems with the way he'd ended things between them.

Anakin closed his eyes under the running water, trying not to see the shocked hurt in Ryn's eyes, rejection biting her to the bone.

Tried not to hear the begging in her voice as she asked him to just please _wait_ ...

But he'd almost lost control, and only the sharp jolt of fear, like a whipcrack across his back, had snapped him out of it, dragged him back from the edge before he did something truly unforgiveable.

It wasn't even that Ryn would have been unwilling. She'd pretty well put any doubts Anakin might have had on that score to rest, just now.

_Anakin, oh, _oh_, yes, please, want you so much, Anakin ..._ He wasn't even sure she'd known all she was murmuring at the time, but he was damn sure what the memory of her huskily voice desire was doing to him, now.

The force of the water striking his overheated skin was enough to make his hips buck, and then the memory was back, Ryn reaching for him, fingers teasing, gently squeezing ...

"Aaaaahhh ..."

_Oh ... kriff._

Well, at least it was the _shower_. There really couldn't have been an easier place to clean up.

Anakin slumped against the wall of the shower and tried to get back his breath and his ability to think, in that order. But for a long minute, all he could really think was that the Force had a decidedly twisted sense of humor.

It had sent him a great best friend. A better friend, really, than he'd ever expected to have. Kind. Brave. Loyal. Sometimes even funny.

It was kind of painfully inconvenient that she was female, which happened to be his preference, and that she looked like some sort of adolescent fantasy.

It was beyond unfair that she _wanted_ him. Quite a lot, evidently.

But Anakin was trying to do the right thing anyway, the _honorable_ thing, and now he was definitely being tortured for it.

Which in a cruel twist of injustice meant that he'd hurt her feelings, maybe irrevocably. Women could be touchy about things like that.

_Okay, get a grip here. She tried to give you a handjob and you bolted for the next room. _Anybody_ would be offended._

Anakin relived the moment in his head, running his hand down the curve of Ryn's waist, stroking his thumb over the edge of her hipbone to make her shiver, the hot glory as she loosened his laces and stroked him back ...

... and then he'd remembered: a kaleidoscope of images, none of them good. Girls Ryn's age crying, bleeding, occasionally dying. Shmi had attended at the childbirth of one girl ... she hadn't looked like Ryn, not really, but she'd had dark hair and pale skin, paler by the end from loss of blood ... she'd been maybe fourteen at the most, and she'd screamed and thrashed and fought, so hard, even after they all knew it was hopeless, and finally she'd died whimpering for them to let her go, to cut her open and just save the baby.

They'd been too late.

And Anakin couldn't have been more than four at the time, but he remembered that desperate, dying girl, and he remembered that she had hated the father for what he did to her.

He had always seen too much - much more than Shmi wanted - even when he was too young to explain what it was he knew. He knew now that it was the Force, granting him perceptions other humans lacked, but at the time he'd accepted that gift as normal for him, and known only that a lot of people hated that man, that he'd hurt other girls.

He wasn't the only one, and Anakin had been too young to really understand what he'd done to them, but he had known they hated him for more than the pregnancies, and he had vowed to never become like that man, no matter what else the desert and slavery and Mos Espa took from him, he wouldn't fall that low, wouldn't become a monster. _Never_.

Maybe - after all these years away, he had enough distance to think about it, even if he really didn't want to - maybe it was partly being raised by only a mother, never really having any contact with men who were good and decent, honorable, maybe that had made him a little fanatic about it, but there was a line there that he just couldn't cross. And was it so terrible to be fanatic about doing the right thing?

Before he'd left Tatooine, even, he'd learned enough to know that not all sex was bad (although it had taken him a while to piece it together). Sometimes men and women were together and it was _good_. He'd never actually seen that in practice - he'd seen more of the bad kind than he could ever wash away, not in a lifetime of stinging-hot showers - but he'd heard it could be that way and he believed it was true.

But Shmi had said that _love_ was what made it good. (She hadn't been happy that he'd asked, but she'd done her best to give him a straight answer anyway.) Anakin wasn't sure he loved Ryn enough, or in the right way. And anyway, love wouldn't keep her from getting pregnant. Besides, Shmi had said something else: she'd told him it was important to wait until you were both ready, until you were old enough for the responsibility. He hadn't known at the time what that responsibility was - he still wasn't sure whether she'd meant kids, or something else, and it wasn't like she was here so he could just _ask_ her - but he didn't think Ryn was old enough and, whatever the responsibility was, he didn't feel ready. Shmi had made him promise to wait.

Obi-Wan's brief, painfully awkward discussion of technique - Anakin was pretty sure he'd managed to skip over any information that could actually be classified as _useful_ - paled by comparison to Shmi's straightforward, love-conquers-all doctrine on sex and relationships.

If it was a contest between Obi-Wan's "mutually satisfactory arrangement" and Shmi's "take care of each other, love too much, and always show respect," Anakin was going with Shmi.

No matter what the Jedi said. He'd be celibate the rest of his life before he gave into their way on this.

Okay, given his performance a few minutes ago, that might be a little more idealism than he could actually live up to.

_It doesn't have to be forever. It's just for today. One day at a time._

That was a nice blend of Shmi's principles and Jedi philosophy; it sounded, actually, a lot like Ryn.

_So we've come full-circle. Great._

Sometime between now and getting out of the shower, he had to come up with something to tell her. She deserved some kind of explanation for his disastrous exit.

And then Ryn screamed his name, fear ripping her voice to shreds, and Anakin gave up thinking and just ran.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: So, I'm doing the Stover-style character profiling again. Or at least, I'm giving it my best shot. Meanwhile, this is another action-junkie chapter, so full steam ahead!

Review reply: The Random Reader: Hehe, well, I'm not sure how Ryn could spend _more_ time thinking about Anakin and their relationship, lol. She's pretty singleminded that way! But there is some fluff coming (along with a heavy dose of angst), so don't despair! And thanks, as always, for revieiwing. :)

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

_This is Anakin Skywalker: reckless Padawan. Freed slave. Devoted friend. The Chosen One of the Jedi Order, the hero of the Battle of Naboo, the most gifted Force-sensitive ever recorded. _

_He is surprisingly mature, in some ways, and heartbreakingly naive in others. Tatooine taught him some of the harshest realities of life, but it never shook his faith in justice, or his belief that goodness is real, and attainable. For anybody. _

_The Jedi Order is beginning, even now, to rattle his conviction, but Anakin refuses to acknowledge it. His answer is always to simply _try harder_: as though he could, by sheer force of will, bring the truth he longs for into existence. Or keep it from dying. _

_The cracks are already forming, a fine spiderweb that lies like tarnish across his soul, but the only people he lets close enough to see are the ones who would never tell. And Anakin is bright enough to shine through anyway: the cracks are like the flaws in a gem, refracting his light and shattering it into prisms. _

_Fear makes him fight harder, drives him in ways he cannot begin to explain. The unnamed dread pursuing his soul is like a whip, urging him onward, and Anakin knows the only answer to a whip is to be better, stronger, faster, smarter, the best there is. And then, sometimes, even the best is not enough, but that just means he has to be better still. _

_Someday, it will be enough. It has to be. _

_And because Obi-Wan and the Council are his Masters now - escaping Tatooine was more like a leap from slavery to slavery than it was any kind of freedom - sooner or later, if he just keeps trying, they will have to acknowledge it. Sooner or later, if he never gives up and never gives in and does everything they ask and disappoints all their worst expectations of him: they will have to say _enough_. And that acknowledgement, that nod, the release of knowing, finally, that he is good enough ... that is all the freedom he will ever really need. _

_In the meantime, there are people who need him, and he won't let them down. _

_Because he is Anakin Skywalker, and he doesn't know how to quit._

_

* * *

_

Anakin sprinted out of the 'fresher, dragging his, pants on with one hand while he gripped his utility belt in the other.

"Ryn!" he shouted, trying to find her through the roiling haze of green smoke spilling through the room.

"Here!" Ryn's voice snapped. "Anakin, run!"

_And leave you? Not in this millenium._ Anakin yanked his laces tight one-handed and hit the living area with his lightsaber flashing, deflecting bolts from the seeker droids now circling the apartment.

_I should have sensed this. I should have seen it coming._

The green smoke was coming from cylindrical canisters, rolling on the floor; Anakin used the Force to send a pair of them back through the gaping holes _melted_ in the transparisteel windows.

Ryn was holding her own against the seeker droids, so Anakin ducked for his boots - Ryn must have thrown them into his path out of the 'fresher, because he all but tripped over them, in the middle of the floor.

"_Anakin, get out!_"

Anakin reached her side in time to feel the shiver of warning from the Force. he hooked an arm around her waist and slammed them both to the floor as fire blossomed above and around. Ryn's scream tore through him, howling in his head: _Noooo!_

That seemed like good advice, but he wasn't taking it alone. He clamped a hand around Ryn's wrist and made for the doorway, wrenching the battered plasteel open with a brutal twist of the Force.

They hit the floor in the hallway and rolled, escaping the shatter of debris from the door, which was definitely not going to be closing behind them.

Anakin dragged Ryn to her feet by his deathgrip on her wrist and got moving again, down the corridor, shooting a warning to any Jedi within hearing distance.

The seeker droids were still with them.

Other Jedi should be arriving, should be feeling the threat, but when Windu had reassigned Ryn's quarters, he'd put her in a mostly-empty area, either because he thought she'd enjoy the privacy or because he wanted to keep orthodox Jedi safe from her contamination. With Windu, one never really knew, but the upshot was that Anakin and Ryn were on their own, for a few seconds longer at least.

Anakin grabbed the comlink from his utility belt and tossed it to Ryn, who caught it with two fingers, still gripping her lightsaber. "Com Obi-Wan!" He dropped her wrist and spun, lightsaber activating, to deflect fire and take down a seeker droid. But there were a lot of them, and more coming. And ... _Is that a droideka?_

"Run!" he yelled to Ryn, and they ran.

They were both coughing and weakened, probably from whatever toxic gas had been in those canisters, but they didn't have to run far. Anakin had a plan.

They rounded a corner and the Temple's gracefully curving staircase came into view.

Anakin wrapped both arms around his best friend and leapt, clearing the railing.

It was a long way down to the next concourse - several floors at least - but Anakin called on the Force, slowing their descent, cradling Ryn like a child in his arms. He remembered, painfully, that awful escape from the abandoned factory in the Works, his choking fear for Ryn, blood everywhere ...

But they'd saved each other that day, and they'd do it again.

Anakin hit the floor feet-first, knees bent to absorb the impact, and set Ryn on her feet.

"Impressive," she coughed, and Anakin grinned and remembered her whispering in his ear on the way up the stairs last night: _If you wanted to show me what good shape you're in, I can think of much better ways._

He'd turned six shades of red, but she'd made him laugh.

Maybe now was the time for his apology, with the tension between them eased.

"Oh, hell," Ryn said, and Anakin followed her eyes up the stairwell.

The droids were dropping after them.

_Maybe later, then._

They ignited their lightsabers in unison.

"Go for help," Ryn said. "I'll -"

"Quit trying to get rid of me," Anakin said. "I'm not leaving you."

"I just -"

"No!"

And then Jedi started pouring down the stairwell after the droids, and suddenly the odds were looking much better.

Lightsabers whirled and spat and flashed, and even though there were a lot of droids coming after them, it wasn't an _infinite_ supply, and so, in less than a minute, a few dozen seeker droids were smoking scrap on the synthstone floor, and Kit Fisto was giving Anakin and Ryn a measuring look.

"All right, Padawans -"

"I"m not a Padawan," Ryn said quickly. "My name is Areth'ryn Orun. I'm a hostage, from Loreth."

"A hostage?" Fisto tilted his head, studying her. "Very well. Padawan ... Skywalker, yes? Can you explain this mess?"

So Anakin described the attack, mentioning that Obi-Wan had assigned him to watch over Ryn for the night but omitting their state of undress. Whatever Fisto imagined, it could hardly be worse than the truth. Either way, it was pretty embarrassing.

That was when Obi-Wan appeared, racing down the concourse toward them. "Anakin! What happened?"

_A beautiful girl offered me sex and I fled the room. Then somebody tried to kill us._

Anakin explained again - the edited version. Obi-Wan didn't ask what they were doing half-naked - while he was in the shower, Ryn had managed to get on the bandeau that covered her breasts, so she must have had a spare lying around, and her boots and utility belt, but it wasn't what you could call a modest outfit, and Anakin was still self-consciously shirtless.

In the meantime, Kit Fisto had evidently decided that leaving them in Obi-Wan's hands was good enough and was organizing an investigation of the droids themselves and of Ryn's room, several floors up.

Obi-Wan was justifiably concerned. "I really thought that we were being overcautious," he said with a frown. "It did no harm to let you spend the night and keep an eye on things, but I think deep down I believed that Ryn would be safe inside the Temple. This attack is very disturbing indeed."

Ryn spoke up. "If this Granta Omega is involved, and he presents a void to your senses, could he be affecting the Jedi's ability to sense danger?"

"I don't see how," Anakin said. "If that were true, how could I have seen him in my vision?"

Ryn shrugged. "It's just a theory," she said. "But ... it doesn't stand to reason that a Jedi could actually be in my room and not sense anything until I screamed unless _something_ were getting in the way."

"Until you screamed?" Obi-Wan repeated. His gaze shifted to Anakin. "What were you doing?"

That was the question Anakin really didn't want to answer. He blinked and scrambled, completely unprepared, and then Ryn took pity on him and stepped into the awkward pause. "He was taking a shower," she said crisply. "It was getting light outside, and we believed the window of opportunity for an attack had passed. We were wrong."

_We were? We did?_

Evidently Ryn had been doing more thinking than Anakin had given her credit for.

The look Obi-Wan shot him said he wasn't impressed. "We will discuss the importance of staying alert later. In the meantime, we have a Council meeting to attend, and we are already late."

"Yes, Master. But ... couldn't we get some clothes first?"

"After the meeting, Padawan. Timeliness is more important than vanity."

Anakin glanced at Ryn. "Yes, Master."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Well, I promised to work on my Kenobi. I did that, and some ... other things ... too. Reviews make me happy, and concrit makes me work harder! *excited puppy grin*

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

The three of them stood in the anteroom outside the Council chambers after their report, waiting for the Council to finish its deliberations. Ryn stared out a window; Anakin alternately stared at the door to the Council chambers and at Ryn; Obi-Wan kept a watchful eye on Anakin.

He had a bad feeling that he'd let his Padawan down.

Since the affair with the Blades of Light, when the Force kept throwing Ryn and Anakin together, Obi-Wan had sensed that perhaps more could be at work here than friendly temperaments and teenage hormones. They were stronger together than apart, an exceptional team, and their friendship was deeply meaningful to both of them, but the very lure of that devotion - that _attachment_ - could be a trial for Anakin to overcome.

The Force was testing him.

And even though Obi-Wan was concerned for his Padawan, even though he dreaded Anakin's pain ... Obi-Wan followed the will of the Force. So he had backed off, let them be what they were to each other, and then, when it became relevant, he had given Anakin some information about his own burgeoning sexuality.

That whole conversation had been a miserable experience for both of them, but Obi-Wan had thought they'd got through it all right.

But now, given their not-quite-nudity and emotionally charged states, Obi-Wan was beginning to harbor concerns that Anakin had decided to take his advice and been less than successful. Or, given their silences - Ryn's grim, Anakin's sullen - maybe _disastrous_ would be a better word.

_Not good._

He cast a glance at Ryn, staring morosely out the window, and decided to focus on Anakin first. It had to be less awkward than quizzing a teenage girl about her love life.

Not by much, as it turned out. Obi-Wan started with more general questions, about whether either of them had been scratched up during the fight - they were both find - before working up to his real point.

"So," he said cautiously, and almost gave himself away when he realized that he sounded like Ryn, beginning his sentence with a conjunction. "According to both of you, you were caught off-guard. I want you to know that I ... er ... fully understand the temptation, but ... Anakin, it is important for a Jedi to surrender his needs to the will of the Force. To not allow himself to be distracted from the duty at hand..."

"I know, Master," Anakin said miserably, head bowed, reeking of guilt and humiliation. "Believe me, I know."

Something was very wrong here. Where was Anakin's fierce pride, his resolution to always do better?"

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked uncertainly, putting a hand on his Padawan's shoulder. The combination of Anakin's abject misery and Ryn's self-contained distance offered a hint, boding nothing good. "What's wrong? Did - did something happen, between you and Ryn?" _Way to approach it delicately, Kenobi. You sound like a character in some fourth-rate holodrama._

Anakin closed his eyes and nodded jerkily; Obi-Wan could see his throat work as he tried to swallow.

_Definitely not good._ Obi-Wan glanced over at Ryn again, felt her seething anger. "And now the two of you aren't speaking."

Anakin squeezed his eyes tighter. "I guess not."

Obi-Wan winced; Anakin's misery was raw in the Force. He needed to learn better control, but perhaps now wasn't the time for that particular lesson. "Anakin, did you - I mean, you did remember what I told you about consensuality, didn't you?"

"You mean like how you have to make sure what you're doing is okay with the other person? Yeah." Anakin opened his eyes; Obi-Wan thought he might have been blinking back tears. "But, Master ... I already knew that stuff."

Obi-Wan blinked. "You did?"

"Well ... yeah. It's just common sense."

"It is?"

Anakin frowned at him. "You don't hurt someone you care about."

That was Anakin: everything black and white, so clear. Either you were a friend or you weren't. Obi-Wan took another glance at Ryn's quarter-profile - he was going to give the poor girl a complex if he didn't rein that impulse in soon - and thought: _Ryn is a friend._ Which meant that Anakin would have walked through fire rather than hurt her, physically or emotionally. That didn't mean he couldn't make an egregious misstep by mistake. Obi-Wan could only imagine the breadth of the cultural disconnect between the two of them. "So," he said again, slowly, working his way through Anakin's reticence, "you suggested something to Ryn, and she ... said no?"

It was as good a place as any to begin feeling the situation out, but Obi-Wan knew as soon as he said it that it wasn't quite right. Obi-Wan knew how strongly Ryn felt toward Anakin; it didn't make sense that she would turn down an opportunity to see what she'd been missing.

"Uh," said Anakin, also stealing a look at Ryn. "Not - not exactly, Master."

Obi-Wan reminded himself that Jedi is never in a hurry. _Patience, Padawan_. "What do you mean, 'not exactly'? What was it, then?"

"I -" Anakin struggled against a wave of guilt and anger and bitter frustration. "Just let me handle it, Master, okay? Ryn is a good friend, we'll work it out."

_Or you might just brood about it indefinitely._

"Anakin ..." Obi-Wan paused, searching for the words that could cut to the heart of the nagging worry he felt. "I have a bad feeling. If you want to make up with Ryn ... don't wait. Don't put it off."

"Master?" Anakin sounded worried.

"I can't explain. Just ... this situation with Omega. I have a feeling we're all going to be pretty busy for a while." He pushed aside the memory of Qui-Gon's face, slack in death, and all the things they'd never said. "Some things can't wait."

* * *

Anakin approached Ryn slowly, trying not to stare at all her bare skin, flaunting in the soft light. Dressed like that - skimpy black underpants and bandeau, a bulky utility belt, knee-high boots - she looked like the spread in some particularly kinked holozine. Any minute now, she was bound to turn around and warn him that he'd been a very naughty boy and deserved a spanking.

_She'd probably be right._

He cleared his throat. "Uh, Ryn?"

She turned to look at him, her green eyes wary, her shields locked down tight. The rose of Coruscant's dawn lit one side of her face with a pale clear blush and left the other in shadow, her skin white and cold as marble under the gold-and-pink-tinged light. "Yes?"

That was Ryn's company voice, husky but cool and precise: not a good sign.

Anakin forged ahead. "I feel there is an apology in order -"

"I know," Ryn said miserably, her cool facade crumpling. "I am so sorry, Anakin. I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I wasn't. I can't believe I did that." She pressed the heels of both hands into her eyes, trying to rub away what might have been tears. "I know it doesn't change anything, but I am _so sorry_, I really am. And I don't know if there is anything I can do, to - to make it up to you, but ..."

She stopped, because Anakin had wrapped his fingers around her wrists and was dragging her hands away from her face so he could see.

Obi-Wan always said that if you got lost in a situation, the best thing to do was to back up to the last place where you knew where you stood.

He tried to smile, didn't quite make it. "Let's start over, okay?" he suggested, trying to keep his voice light. "My name is Anakin Skywalker, and I'm trying to apologize, here." Ryn stared at him, mouth working. Anakin tightened his grip on her wrists and met her eyes honestly, no shields at all, willing her to feel everything he couldn't put into words. "I'm sorry, Ryn."

"What?" Ryn jerked in his hands. "What for?"

Her heartbeat fluttered against his fingertips; Anakin shifted his grip minutely to stroke his thumbs over the pulse-points in time to her inner rhythm, immeasurably grateful to feel her alive and strong and not hating him.

"For running away instead of explaining. For not treating you with the respect you deserve." The last part was the hardest, but he made himself say it: "For not being there when you needed me." He closed his eyes, briefly, against the memory of her standing in the swirling smoke, screaming for him. "You could have died, Ryn."

"That's true every day," Ryn said. She'd gone very still in his grip, her eyes searching. "Anakin, I -"

But he never got to hear what she might have said, because the door to the Council chambers opened and Mace Windu summoned them inside.

* * *

Years later, scholars would call what happened in the Jedi Council chambers that morning a defining moment, a watershed in the history of the Jedi Order, a leap into the future, sowing the seeds of salvation for generations to come.

At the time, Ryn Orun called it a mess.

She shook her head at the Council and said, "You can't do that."

Mace Windu regarded her over his steepled fingertips. "Why not?"

Intimidating was just Windu's style. Ryn tried not to take it personally. "Because it is in violation of interstellar law," she said steadily. "Loreth isn't in Republic space, so you have no jurisdiction. You can't bring the Republic into the internal power struggles of a foreign government without a directive from the Senate. And even if you had such a mandate - which you won't get until it's too late, if I know anything about the way the Senate works - sending agents of the Republic to disrupt the affairs of an independent system is an act of war under the Treaty of Veremais."

"The Treaty of Veremais has to be eight hundred years old, at least," said Adi Gallia. "It's long outdated."

"Eight hundred and fifty-three," Ryn said. "But it has never been repealed by the Senate. And it's keeping the Hutts bottled up in the Outer Room for now, so I wouldn't be in any hurry to discard it."

"I don't understand," said Ki-Adi-Mundi, mild as ever. "Surely Loreth would want our help?"

"After nearly a thousand years of avoiding your Republic like the plague?" Ryn said. "I don't think so."

The Council gave her a collectively aggrieved look. Even Anakin was eying her with some exasperation.

"All right," Windu said with heavy patience. "What do you suggest?"

For a long, slow heartbeat, Ryn held her breath in silence, pretty sure she was about to do the wrong thing, really sure she was running out of options, feeling the weight of the choice as though the galaxy were waiting with her, for the words that would shore up the old order or begin the slide toward chaos.

Ryn spoke, and the fall began. "The easy way."

Ryn felt it in the room, in the Force: like a chill wind across her soul, the sigh of the universe as some long-held tension snapped, a feeling that was both relief and the first taste of doom.

She shivered.

Yoda tapped his gimer stick on the floor, breaking her reverie. "A plan, have you?"

_A plan?_ Ryn thought, finding her way back to the conversation. _Oh. Right_. "Yeah," she said slowly. "But you're not going to like it."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "Here we go again."


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Still working on my Obi-Wan characterization. In this case, that means working on his relationship with his Padawan, so ... I welcome your feedback/concrit!

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Ryn's plan, when she had laid it out for the Council, seemed to present a distinction without a difference vis a vis the original decision they'd handed down.

Obi-Wan said, "I don't understand. How is this any different?"

"My way leaves Kit and Stevan out of it and takes no interest in Lorethan internal affairs," Ryn said. "If Omega is wanted for crimes committed within the Republic, and you petition for the privilege of tracking him through our territory, as a courtesy, I can give you reasonable assurances that the request will be granted. If you insist on sending a group of Jedi to Stevan directly to investigate his involvement with Omega, it will be taken as a grave insult to Clan Ardel and an attack on Lorethan sovereignty and possibly precipitate an armed conflict." She frowned. "Make that two."

Mace Windu looked graver than usual. "Let's assume we are willing to take your word for all this. How do you suggest we proceed?"

Ryn drew a deep breath. "You will need to formally petition a Lorethan of noble rank for permission to pursue your hunt through our territory. I have that part covered, more or less. Then we need two more Lorethan nobles who will agree with me on your permission. I have some names in mind. The good news is, this should work. The bad news is, it will probably take a couple of days to get everything sorted out." She scanned the Council. "But I can't help you with the Senate. If you need some kind of authorization to negotiate with a foreign state, you'll have to get it yourselves. _Carefully_. We are all walking a very fine line here, and I am going to have to ask you to take my word again when I tell you that a single misstep could result in a crisis of galactic proportions." She caught Windu's gaze and held it. "And I am not speaking figuratively."

Obi-Wan thought that was an awfully high-handed tone to take with the Jedi Council, arguably the twelve wisest and most powerful beings in the galaxy, but Ryn sounded sure of herself, grounded and centered, resolute in the face of their patent skepticism, and the Council members were too steeped in Jedi doctrine to allow themselves to be ruffled by her lack of submissiveness.

None of them knew, then, that before the Clone Wars were over, Ryn would be controversially famous for exactly this, her alarming readiness to face down far more powerful beings in positions of authority over whatever she thought was a just cause.

"The way to handle the Senate is to speak to Palpatine directly," Master Windu said. "You have no objections to our choice of Jedi for the assignment?" If there was a trace of acid sarcasm in his tone, it was well-deserved.

"No, Master Windu." At least she didn't pick fights over nothing.

"Then you will accompany myself and the Kenobi-Skywalker team to the Chancellor's office later today," Windu said. "Dismissed."

* * *

Anakin caught Ryn's arm as they left the Council chambers. "Breakfast, remember? Only I'm thinking now you should come eat with us."

Predictably, Ryn shook her head. "I need to get back and see what I can salvage from my quarters. A chance of clothes would be ideal." She cut her eyes, sharply, toward Obi-Wan, then refocused on him. "And if we get very lucky, there may be some evidence left that we can use to further our -" Her comlink beeped. "Just a second."

"Orun here."

"Shorty, what the hell?" Evinne's voice said. "I tried to enter the Temple and they won't even let me dock. They've got Padawans running security all over the place. What's going on?"

Ryn grimaced. "Sorry. There was an attack on my quarters, maybe an hour and a half ago. They've got the whole Temple locked down now. I'll see if -"

"Wait, an attack?" Evinne said, her voice sharpening. "What happened?"

"Seeker droids equipped with blasters melted through my windows and came in firing," Ryn said. "And someone filled the room with toxic green gas. Nothing I recognized."

"Ugh," Evinne said. "But you're okay? And Skywalker?"

"We're both fine," Ryn said. "I don't think they were trying to kill me."

_News to me,_ Anakin thought, and Evinne, skeptically, said, "You don't?"

"What kind of a fool sends seeker droids, toxic gas, and a couple of droidekas to commit an assassination in the Jedi Temple?" Ryn said.

"A fool who believes in overkill?" Evinne suggested. "That's a lot of firepower, kid."

"Not really," Ryn said. "Not for this. Only the destroyers packed any serious heat, and who sends droidekas out for an assassination? They are completely unstealthy. Think about it. The seeker droids were modded to fire blaster bolts, but that basically makes them a ramped-up version of the training droids the Jedi use to train Younglings to deflect bolts. If there is one place in the galaxy those things would be utterly useless, it's here."

"Okay," Evinne said, sounding unconvinced. "So what's your theory?"

"I think someone wants me scared," Ryn said promptly. "I'm not even sure how serious the attack last night was. But someone wants me scared away from the Temple." She didn't mention that _someone_ was very likely Evinne's own brother.

"Could be more than one hit," Evinne suggested, also aggressively ignoring her family tree. "Someone wants you dead, someone else wants you scared."

"Yeah, I'm swimming in friends," Ryn said. "Look, I'll come down to the docking bay and -"

"No, don't bother," Evinne said. "I'll get in eventually. Listen. Is there anything you need? I mean, since your quarters were trashed?"

"Won't know until I get in to check the damage," Ryn said. "But everything in there has to be contaminated by that gas."

"Clothes and basic toiletries," Evinne concluded. "I'll see what I can do. I'll comm you when I'm in."

She disconnected before Ryn could say anything else, and Ryn sighed at the comlink before tucking it away.

"Lucky you have her," Anakin suggested. "I don't think Jedi robes are your style. But your'e going to have to wear them for a while, until she gets back, anyway. Like you said, anything of yours is going to have to go through decon before it can be used again. Same for my shirt."

"Ah ... yes," Ryn said. "You're right. We should ... we should both get some clothes."

"Indeed," said Obi-Wan, who until now had been keeping his distance. "You are distracting passersby, both of you."

Ryn shot him a pointed look. "Perhaps you should have thought of that before marching us through the Temple half-naked."

Obi-Wan blinked at her tone. "We were late," he began, but Ryn cut him off.

"Don't _eve_n," she said tightly. "I've never even _heard_ of a humanoid culture in which it is acceptable to march a woman through a public place in her _underwear_."

Seeing trouble loom, Anakin sent a wave of calm her way. "Easy, Ryn. Jedi don't think that way."

Ryn actually stamped her foot, which would have been funny in contrast to her self-possession before the Council if she hadn't been so clearly unhappy. "Do they think at all?" she demanded furiously. "_Who does this?_ It's cruel. I had to stand up in front of the Council and argue for all our sakes _in my underwear_! It was humiliating and uncomfortable and _cold_. And every single member of the Council was wearing a cloak, but not one being offered me a cover-up. Not one! What kind of compassion is that?"

"You could have said something," Obi-Wan pointed out. Anakin could sense both his confusion and his remorse - he wouldn't have hurt Ryn on purpose.

Ryn, unfortunately, wasn't having it. "Should I have _begged_ for a scrap of dignity in front of the Council? Would you listen to a child begging for a cloak? Would you take her seriously? I had to make them_ listen_, Obi-Wan. I was trying to prevent a war that could end in untold deaths!" Ryn dragged in a deep breath, let it out. "I am the Council's hostage," she said, in a slightly calmer tone. "If they choose to have me report stark naked while standing on one leg, I will do it or die trying. I don't even hold it against them: there is no room in my duty for a personal feud with the Jedi Council. But you, Obi-Wan ... you pretended to be a friend, of your own free will. You chose this. It is ... personal."

She turned her back on them and stalked off, vibrating with hurt and anger, probably headed for the Temple supply room so she could stop wandering around the hallways in her black underwear and boots like an escapee from the holopages of _Bad Girls_.

_Looks like breakfast will have to wait._

"That's not good, Master," Anakin said, as though Obi-Wan might somehow have missed that. "She's really upset."

Obi-Wan shot him the look that deserved. "No, really?"

"No need to be sarcastic, Master," Anakin said. "Some people have nightmares about appearing in public naked."

"She wasn't _nake_d," Obi-Wan said, but the distinction lacked any real force and they both knew it. He folded his arms. "If you knew how she felt, why didn't _you_ say something?"

Anakin shifted his weight. _Oh, stang._ "I thought you were punishing us for ... for what you thought we were doing." _What we almost _were_ doing._ He looked away, unable to meet his Master's eyes. "There wasn't time to explain what really happened." _Not that I would, anyway. Not that it was that much better._

"_Punishing_ you?" Obi-Wan repeated incredulously. "Anakin, surely you know me better than that."

Anakin didn't answer. He couldn't. He just stared in the general direction of Obi-Wan's collarbone.

Very slowly, as though he were approaching a wounded animal, Obi-Wan asked him, "If you thought you were being treated unfairly, why didn't you speak up?"

But Anakin couldn't answer that either, couldn't explain how he'd learned the hard way that to get through a punishment you kept your head down and your teeth together and did _not_, for star's sake, talk back and give them a reason to beat you down _again_.

Some of what seethed, locked behind his jaw, must have shown on his face, because Obi-Wan reached out to touch his arm, sensed the flinch Anakin held in check, and let his hand drop. "Anakin?"

Anakin couldn't answer the question in Obi-Wan's voice, because there was nothing he could say that Obi-Wan would ever understand. But since Obi-Wan couldn't help it, either, Anakin fought down the tightness in his chest and said, "It's all right, Master."

"Anakin ..." Obi-Wan looked helpless, and that hurt, too. "I know ... your childhood must have been very difficult. I can only imagine what Watto thought was a fair punishment." _It wasn't Watto. It was before._ And no, Obi-Wan couldn't imagine, but Anakin didn't speak that thought, either. "But you must know that I will never punish you for speaking the truth. For questioning." Obi-Wan sought to catch his gaze, but Anakin couldn't trust himself to meet those searching eyes, couldn't trust his shields to hold. He looked down, waist-level, letting his gaze unfocus with the ease of too much practice, and finally Obi-Wan gave up on reaching him and tried a new tactic, a familiar one: "You must learn to let go, Anakin. Even pain can be an attachment. A Jedi does not cling to the past."

Shmi was in the past; they'd had this conversation time and again, different every time but still somehow always the _same_.

Anakin reached for words that would be better than what he said last time, every time: _yes, Master._ Groping, he found a memory that almost made him smile: "Ryn says 'the past is what got us here'."

Obi-Wan passed from lecturing to quizzical. "Well, that is irrefutably true, but ... what does it mean?"

Anakin shrugged, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease just a little, no longer tensed for a blow that he knew wasn't coming. "She also says that the present is a starting point."

Yielding his search for meaning to a more immediate curiosity, Obi-Wan said, "What does she say about the future?"

"That it is the fall before our feet." The memory warmed him, Ryn's slow grin in the Temple garden, the affection in her laugh. "Or sometimes," Anakin grinned, "she just says, 'Hell, Anakin, try not to throw yourself off that cliff until you get to it'." He did a good-enough imitation of Ryn that Obi-Wan smothered a grin of his own, hearing her familiar exasperation in Anakin's voice.

"She certainly is colorful," he murmured, sobering. "And now, apparently, very unhappy with me. I suppose I ought to take the advice I gave you and try to make things right. That young woman is collecting apologies at an alarming rate."

Anakin lifted his eyebrows. "How do you know I apologized?" he asked. "Since you weren't listening."

Obi-Wan snorted. "Easy guess. Any more words of wisdom before I go track her down?"

"Let her get dressed before you try to talk," Anakin said. "And don't say you're sorry unless you mean it. Ryn will know, and she'll care."


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Without anything much like a plan -_ anticipation is distraction_ - they trailed after Ryn - long since out of sight, her presence lingering like incense in the hallways - down toward the supply room. There Anakin pretended, with more tact than Obi-Wan would have expected of him, to be completely absorbed in his hunt for a new shirt, leaving Obi-Wan to track down Ryn and make his apologies.

He found her attempting to negotiate the obi of a tunics-and-leggings-set in soft gray.

"Not bad," he offered quietly. "Let me help?"

She shot him an irritated look. "I've got it, thanks." That was plainly false; she tried winding the obi once more before she gave up and tossed it aside with a low growl of seething frustration.

_Pick your battles,_ Obi-Wan told himself. "I came to apologize," he said briefly.

Ryn fastened her utility belt over the gray outer tunic without looking at him. "So?"

"I was horribly insensitive. I'm sorry."

Ryn didn't answer, sitting down to tuck her leggings into her boots.

"For what it's worth," Obi-Wan said, "I would never have embarrassed you intentionally. I was thinking only of getting to the Council without delay, and that modesty of the flesh is not necessary to a Jedi's duty."

Buckling one boot tight under her knee, Ryn mumbled, "'m not a Jedi."

He could feel her resentment, her sense of ill-use that stemmed from more than just today's misstep. She'd been keeping this locked down for a very long time.

Probably for most of a year, here in the Temple, where her status as a noble hostage failed to mean to the Jedi what it meant to the people who had given her up. Most of a year of unacknowledged sacrifice, of service without thanks.

_She doesn't do it for thanks._

Obi-Wan struggled. It wasn't just that the Jedi didn't _appreciate_ Ryn ... he was fairly certain most of them didn't, but that wasn't the point. It had something to do with the dissonance between how her own people saw her purpose here, and how the Jedi accepted it. Loreth sacrificed one of their own, someone loved and respected by her people, and the Jedi ... failed to acknowledge the gift.

And then the pieces snapped into place, the bridge of understanding that could span the gap between the quietly self-sacrificial girl he knew and the resentful creature before him now.

_Metonymy_.

Personal inconveniences, Ryn had always managed to take in stride. She managed to get by and get along, and if sometimes her teeth gritted when no one was looking ... well, what the Jedi didn't know wouldn't hurt them. She might not be a model of Jedi serenity, but no one did restraint better. The needs all around her had demanded the sacrifice of _self_, and Ryn got up every day and answered the call, all over again.

Somehow, today, Obi-Wan had crossed the line: he had offended not just Ryn Orun, the individual, but the people she stood for. And now she was really angry.

But she'd said it was _personal_.

Obi-Wan studied her in silence for a long pause, seeking the connection that he knew must be there.

"Ryn ..."

She looked up at him then, her gaze belligerently closed, her shields tight, as though daring him to ask for a more intimate response.

And then he knew.

He'd insulted Loreth - inadvertently, it was true - but the betrayal of trust had been personal.

Apologizing to Ryn wasn't going to be enough. He needed something that would make restitution for the perceived insult to her homeworld, to the people she was meant to represent.

But if taking her to the Council in her underwear had been insult ... then the way to restore balance must be to show respect.

Obi-Wan struggled to find the words that would make things right between them. He found an acknowledgement of everything she was doing here: "I have never known anyone who embodied the Jedi ethos of service more fully."

"Still not a Jedi."

Was it his imagination, or did she sound a little less belligerent? "You were amazing in front of the Council."

Ryn sat up, pushed her hair back, and speared him with a look before ducking to take care of the other boot. "It's a little early for congratulations."

At least she was talking to him now. "It is never too early to acknowledge greatness," Obi-Wan said. Satine had told him that, once. She'd been right then, and the young Satine he'd known would have admired Ryn's courage and tenacity. Probably not her refusal to be impressed by titles. "What would you consider an accomplishment?"

Ryn let out a breath, slumping a little, her eyes closed. "If I can get us through this mission without causing a civil war," she said slowly, painfully. "That's going to take more luck than skill, but better lucky than good, they say." She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I don't know whether you can call that an accomplishment, but right now it's what I want."

"I hope you get it," Obi-Wan said. He wanted to ask her what she meant by _civil war_ - on Loreth, most likely, but why? - but she was so exhausted and miserable that he didn't have the heart to question her now. _Later._ "In the meantime, I want to second Anakin's offer of breakfast. Your quarters won't e safe to go back to yet, and in any case they'll be crawling with analysis droids and every Jedi in the Temple with an interest in forensics. You might as well wait with us as anywhere else."

"I can grab breakfast in the -"

"Ryn." He reached for the personal, found it in something a thousand times more intimate than insult: honest apology, between friends. "I know you are angry with me, and I am sorry, but I cannot go back and change what is done." The Force showed him something else, the place inside her where the briefest touch would open her heart irresistibly. "And ... it will make Anakin very unhappy if you refuse to come."

Ryn's face crumpled at the thought. "You fight dirty."

"I am asking for the chance to regain your trust." Perhaps he didn't deserve it. But friendship was never about deserving.

"In return for breakfast?"

"One has to start someplace," Obi-Wan said, and saw the easing at the corners of Ryn's mouth that was not quite a smile.

"Yeah," she said slowly. "Okay. Breakfast." She slid off the bench in the supply room, coming gracefully to her feet. "Let's go."

* * *

Jedi Master Keroin Serel commed while they were eating.

"Orun."

He introduced himself. "We have a preliminary analysis of the materials used in the attack. You want the results?"

"Yeah, I do," Ryn said. "I'm on my way." Suiting actions to words, she stood up, but Serel overruled her.

"The decon droids are still working," he said. "I'll come to you. Where?"

"Ah ... the Kenobi-Skywalker quarters. That's on Level -"

"I know where they are. See you in fifteen. Serel out."

"Um," Ryn said, looking up. "Sorry. I don't usually invite people to other people's quarters. It's very rude, I know."

Obi-Wan waved her chagrin aside. "Don't worry about it," he said. "This way, we can all hear the news together." He froze. "Erm. Unless you were meaning to keep it confidential?"

"No," said Ryn. "Anakin was there, he might need treatment for whatever was in that gas." She pulled a face. "Force knows it made my throat raw."

"It's not so bad," Anakin said. "You just have to let the Force purge your system of impurities."

Ryn frowned at him. "Is this going to involve vomiting?"

Obi-Wan smiled and answered for him: "Not ideally, no. I can show you the technique, if you'd like."


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Whew, a week since the last update! I think that's the longest I've ever gone! But I'm back, and so are our favorite Jedi ... with some surprises! :)

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:**

Serel's analysis proved unilluminating: the toxins used were not deadly except in very concentrated doses, they were widely available through commercial sources, especially in the Mid-Rim, and none of the modded droids was sufficiently intact to render much information.

"We'll know more after the lab results come in," he told Ryn and Obi-Wan, seated on the couch in the Kenobi-Skywalker quarters. "Some commercial manufacturers use a molecular code to identify their materials; we might be able to trace the gas-bombs back to their source."

"Doesn't mean much," Ryn said. "The bombs could have been stolen, or sold on the black-market."

"At least it's a start," Obi-Wan told her, and Ryn shrugged. It wasn't like she was in a position to be picky.

"Okay, what's next?" she asked, but it turned out that nothing was next, until the lab results came in or Ban-Yaro, down in the communications center, made contact with Lorethan Command, which so far had been proving difficult. Communications with Ryn's home planet were always an iffy proposition from the Core; interstellar static combined with the special disturbances that haunted the Unknown Regions to make a stable connection through hyperwave difficult, and the signal had to be bounced so many times along its trail that it was prone to degrading, or to arriving hours later than intended. But Loreth's system of outlying comm-sat ships generally made communication _possible_, even if it wasn't efficient. This morning, Ban-Yaro hadn't been able to raise any kind of response at all; he wasn't even sure he was focusing the hyperwave correctly, because he couldn't get any kind of acknowledging signal.

_One more problem._

Ryn was about to take her leave of Master Kenobi and his Padawan - and seek a few stolen minutes of rest, since there didn't appear to be anything more useful she could do at the moment - when her comlink chirped and she pulled it from her belt with the curious mix of eagerness and dread that comes from expecting a call that might be good news or bad. "Orun here."

But it wasn't Ban-Yaro at all. "Oh, good," said a voice she'd never heard before. "This is Padawan Tru Veld. I'm on guest escort duty today, and it appears that you have some ... well ... guests. They insist they're here to see you, not the Temple." He sounded worried. "They didn't give me any names."

"That's all right," Ryn said automatically. _Wait..._ "Did you say _Tru Veld_?"

"Uh," said the Padawan. "Yes. Sorry, do we know each other?"

Ryn grinned. "No," she said cheerfully. "But I think we might have a mutual friend. Anakin Skywalker?"

"Oh, Anakin!" Veld said, as buoyant as his fellow Padawan had described him. "How is he? Have you seen him?"

That seemed a backward order of questioning to Ryn, but she said, "He's all right, and I just had breakfast with him. If Master Kenobi can spare him for a while, I'll bring him downstairs with me."

"Great!" Tru enthused. "Um ... what do you want me to tell your visitors?"

_Oh. That._ "Tell them I will be there shortly," Ryn said. "And thanks."

She clipped her comlink back to her utility belt and met Obi-Wan's eyes. "So? Can I take Anakin with me?"

* * *

Ryn descended the stairs at a decidedly slow pace, despite Anakin's obvious impatience to see his friend. He kept giving her exasperated looks without saying anything, as though asking might be construed as a weakness, until finally Ryn said, "I'm making them wait. It's a power play."

Beside her on the step, Anakin frowned. "That sounds ... petty."

"It is," Ryn said. "It is also efficient. Demonstrates without words that I don't have to leap when they call. If I'm lucky, it might even make them nervous." She wasn't counting on that part. Their leader, at least, hadn't looked like the jumpy type.

Anakin glanced sidelong at her. "You're wishing Evinne was here, aren't you?"

_Ouch._ But she never lied to Anakin, so she said, "Yeah."

Anakin said, "I don't get it. I don't understand your relationship with her. I mean, when she first showed up, I thought you hated each other. Then it seemed like she was maybe kind of an ally. Now it almost sounds like you trust her, but that's her _brother_ who just tired to have you killed. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Oh, I'm fairly certain I don't," Ryn said.

Anakin winced. "Right. Sorry. Forget I asked."

"It's okay," Ryn said.

Anakin shot her a concerned look. "You could have died today."

Ryn started to point out - again - that this was always true. Remembering in time that Anakin wasn't likely to take much comfort from the knowledge, she changed tactics and said instead, "I didn't."

"No thanks to me," Anakin muttered.

Ryn lifted an eyebrow at him. "Oh, so I imagined your courageous defense? Good to know."

Anakin scowled at her. "I let myself get distracted."

"It looked like you were paying attention to me," Ryn said. "I'm just sorry I ... spooked you."

"What? No, Ryn, you didn't ..."

"Sure, I did," Ryn said. "I didn't mean to, but I did." She shrugged, feigning nonchalance even though Anakin could read her like a book. "Cultural differences, I guess."

"Ryn, no, it's not ... look, it's complicated."

"Yeah, I got that part."

"Right. Look," he said again. "I know you're ... confused, and I know you must be angry with me, but -"

"No," Ryn said. Anakin just stared at her, so she said, "No, I'm not angry with you. The confused part was right."

"Oh," Anakin said. He looked more baffled than relieved. "Okay. I just ... okay." He stopped, one hand on nervously caressing the railing. "What I'm trying to say is: I know I messed up, and I know we need to talk about this, but just not ..."

He trailed off, searching, and Ryn finished the sentence for him: "Right now?"

Anakin nodded, and Ryn said, "Okay. When you're ready." She jerked her head toward the foot of the stairs. "In the meantime ... let's go."

* * *

Anakin wasn't sure what he had expected from the meeting, other than an opportunity to see Tru again. A Jedi's time was not his own, so the chance to spend even a few minutes with a friend was always precious, a gift from the Force not taken lightly. In that respect, at least, being a Jedi wasn't that different from being a slave. Except, of course, that slaves were allowed to resent such treatment, even if there wasn't anything they could _do_ about it. Jedi were expected to accept it as the natural order of things.

Anakin sighed inwardly. Shmi had never resented anything except the chance to do better for her only son. Resentment had never been her way, any more than it was the Jedi's. But Anakin had never been able to keep himself from feeling anger at the injustice in the galaxy, and he didn't know how to stop. The best he could manage to do was to keep pushing his anger down, where it couldn't hurt anyone.

Some days it almost choked him.

_Forget it,_ he told himself as he and Ryn cleared the stairs. _This is a happy moment, so focus on the moment and be happy._

"You'll like Tru," he told Ryn, trying to take his own advice.

"He certainly sounded pleasant," Ryn agreed. "But I doubt I'll have much time to socialize, at least until I can get rid of these visitors." She yawned behind her hand. "And then I'm going to bed. Really."

Anakin laughed. "I don't think I've ever heard you admit you needed rest before."

Ryn yawned again. "Well, there's a first time for everything."

They turned down the concourse. "You're exhausted."

"Yes."

"You're too tired to deal with all of this -"

"It has to be dealt with," Ryn said. "And there is no one else."

She sounded so lonely. Anakin wished he could hold her and make it better, but that was attachment, and it was against the rules. Besides, holding her hadn't gone all that well earlier. That sort of thing evidently got out of hand fast.

He said, "I wish I could help."

Ryn gave him that full-body nudge, leaning into him and then away, that was growing as familiar as her smile. "I know."

They would still have to talk, eventually, about what happened that morning. But they were still friends, and they were on their way to see Tru, and for the moment that was enough.

[]

The Lorethan delegation was waiting in the visitor's lobby, not taking the usual tour, but standing in a clump beside an anxiously cheerful Padawan Ryn could only assume to be Tru Veld.

"It can wait," the Padawan said as they came within voice range, and Ryn blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Getting to know each other," the Padawan said, flexing one long arm in ways that had Ryn fighting to control her wince. "I'm Tru."

"Ah," Ryn said. "I am Are -" she stopped, because this was Anakin's friend, and dropped the formal address. "I'm Ryn."

"I know," Tru said, nodding. "I heard you were really pretty."

Ryn could feel a blush heating her face. "Tru!" Anakin said reprovingly.

"Sorry," Tru said, but he didn't sound all that repentant. "These visitors are for you, by the way."

Ryn repressed a sigh. "I know," she said heavily.

The delegation was watching her, and there really wasn't any point in putting it off, so Ryn stepped forward and said, "So whose idea were the bounty hunters?"

Deafening silence. Their leader evidently felt she could end the conversation right there by glaring down her nose at Ryn, but it would take more than her pale fish eyes to intimidate someone who had just butted heads with Mace Windu. Ryn clasped her hands behind her back and took up a balanced stance, prepared to wait her out.

Finally the older woman said, "Perhaps you would care to explain what you mean."

But Ryn could sense the wariness in her now, and that was all the confirmation she needed.

She flashed white teeth, not a smile. "Or perhaps I won't. But I _will_ advise you to get the hell off Coruscant before the Jedi decide you present an intolerable risk."

"You have no authority -"

"No, but I do," said a voice off to Ryn's left, and when she turned to look, Evinne shrugged. "Sorry. I never could resist a good entrance." She sauntered closer, surveying the delegates with a jaundiced eye. "These are the visitors who were waiting for you yesterday?"

Ryn nodded.

"Huh. Well, you can set your mind at ease about where they came from. I know two of the three." She paused to run a hand up Anakin's arm and purr appreciatively. "Skywalker, I swear, you look amazing. Jedi training must be better than I thought." She turned back to Ryn, who was too mesmerized by the performance to be incensed, and tossed her a glossy shopping bag, which she caught reflexively. "Shorty, try some real clothes for a change. And for stars' sake, do something about your hair."

Without missing a beat, she shifted her attention to the delegation from Loreth. "And you. I assume you have some lofty excuse for harassing a noblewoman and taking out a hit on the Jedi Temple?" She leaned back and breathed out fragrant herbal smoke from her self-rolled, the epitome of tough chic, and Ryn remembered why she had taken the Podracing circuit by storm.

"We have done nothing of the kind," their leader blustered, evidently laboring under the delusion that she could bluff Evinne Ardel. "We are legitimate -"

"Oh, I didn't know your mothers, but I doubt it," Evinne said genially. "Or, actually ..." She turned to the youngest of the three. "I might have known yours. Mielku was your mam?"

The young woman had to be older than Evinne, but she answered meekly, "Yes, milday."

"So chances are good we're half-sisters," Evinne concluded. "But _not_ legitimate. Small galaxy. And I can only suppose that my brother roped you into this travesty by preying upon some misguided sense of family feeling." She blew smoke thoughtfully. "I have to tell you, he's quiet immune."

"I don't -" their leader began, and stopped under the combined glares of two unimpressed young noblewomen and one overprotective Jedi Padawan. Tru was wisely minding his own business.

"You've failed," Evinne said succinctly. "You thought blocking communications with Loreth would be enough. You thought you'd find Orun alone and vulnerable and an easy target. She's not alone, she's tough as hell, and right now, you're in my line of fire. So I suggest you run back to Stevan and tell him to clean his house or I will clean it for him." She took a single, swaggering step back, and stood glowing in the refracted sunbeams from the Temple's faceted skylights, like the golden goddess of some forgotten myth. "Our grandfather lost Clan Ardel's good name. I'm taking it back." She bared her teeth in a feral smile. "It starts today."

There wasn't much to say to that. The three women bowed and left, defeated by their lord's sister and implacable resolve.

Ryn ignored them; she was focused on Evinne. "What do you think you're doing?"

"The right thing," Evinne said, and grimaced. "Somebody had to." She flicked her self-rolled into the nearest trash receptacle, ignoring Tru's wince, and met Ryn's eyes. "It's bad back home, Shorty. We need to find your brother."

"Not exactly," Ryn said. "We need to find Omega."

Evinne looked exasperated, but she said, "It's a start. Does this idea come with any kind of a plan?"


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Whoa, moving and going back to grad school have really cut into my productivity! It took me over a week to write this! But it's here now. :) Drop a line and let me know what you think!

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Ryn woke nearly three hours later, her skin prickling with seat, her body throbbing, and slammed her head once against the pillow in frustration. As if it weren't enough that she wanted Anakin when she was awake, her desire for him embarrassingly obvious, it seemed now that even her dreams were full of him, always taunting her, just out of reach. Or, rather - remembering the dream - definitely within reach, but always vanishing into wakefulness just as she parted for him.

_It happens every night now. Or, in this case, day._ She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the tension in her muscles - she'd taken Humanoid Sexuality several months ago, under Vokara Che's tutelage, and while it certainly didn't sound like what she'd learned at home, Master Che's purely physical and scientific description of human arousal - no allusions to the mystical significance of joining here - had provided a mundane but practical understanding of the mechanics of sex. Ryn now knew, for instance, that a young woman like herself could probably be expected not to experience much pleasure in her first sexual encounter, that men often had no idea what sort of touch might satisfy a female doctor, and that she could, if she chose, relieve some of this aching tension by taking things, into her own hand.

Sentimentally, she wanted it to be with Anakin instead.

_I don't care if it's stupid. I love him. I don't care if Vokara Che says it's all just a series of electrochemical impulses. That doesn't mean it isn't love. You can't quantify everything._

Ryn sighed and scrubbed her face with her hands. _It doesn't matter. He doesn't want me anyway._

Except ... maybe he did. At least, there was no denying he'd been turned on. That had to mean _something_, even if Ryn know exactly what.

She closed her eyes, hearing again Anakin's voice in her ear, murmuring appreciation, feeling the callouses in his seeking fingers. She could almost smell his skin.

_I screwed it up. I don't know how, exactly, but I did._

She threw one arm over her eyes, blocking the light from the window, fighting back tears.

She didn't even have the small comfort of rolling over to touch the rumpled place where Anakin had slept; she'd already been moved into her new quarters. For all the evidence left behind _here_, this morning might as well have been another dream.

She was dragging on one of the outfits Evinne had brought - a black sheath with silver buckles at the sides - with the intention of hauling her bitterly aching bones down to the refectory in hopes of locating some drinkable caf when her comlink chirped.

Ryn dug it out of the pile of discarded Jedi clothing at the foot of the bed. "Orun here."

"Commander Orun, this is Master Ban-Yaro. My efforts to reach Lorethan Command continue to be unsuccessful. However, I am seeing an odd ... warping ... in the signal path. So far as I can tell, the signal is actually being _diverted_ as it passes through the Outer Rim. It isn't being blocked; it's being relayed, just as it should be - but in the wrong direction."

Ryn cursed under her breath. Was it too much to ask for _one_ thing to go right?

Apparently it was.

"I understand, Master Ban-Yaro. Thank you for trying. You may discontinue your efforts."

"I am sorry I could not be of more assistance," Ban-Yaro said sympathetically. "I can try it again later ..."

"There is no need," Ryn said, trying not to sound as discouraged as she felt. "If the signal is being redirected consistently, it must be deliberate. Can you tell where it is going?"

'If I run an analysis," Ban-Yaro said. "It could take a while."

"I'd like you to try," Ryn said. "It might be important." _Because if it's not going to Loreth, it could be going to Omega._

_Kit, please be all right._

"Understood," Ban-Yaro said. "I'll let you know what I find out."

* * *

Ryn still felt groggy as she stumbled downstairs toward the refectory. Her nap was supposed to have revived her, but instead it seemed to have reminded her body of all she was missing.

_In more ways than one._

She pushed her hair back with one hand and tried half-heartedly to clip it in place with the other, the tangle as unruly as her thoughts.

_Why haven't we heard back from Palpatine's office yet? What's taking so long?_

Halfway to the refectory, she heard a familiar voice shout "Ryn!" and turned to wait for Ferus, jogging toward her down a side corridor.

She tried to muster a smile for him, failed miserably, and then found herself smiling anyway when he shook his head at her attempt.

"I've been looking for you," he told her. Sizing her up, he added, "You look really good."

"Evinne's wardrobe choices," Ryn said, "and thanks. But why didn't you just use the comlink?"

Ferus shrugged. "It seemed like a good exercise, to try and find you using only reason and the Force. Like those treasure hunts we did as Younglings." He winced. "Except that of course you didn't, because you weren't here. Did you do something similar at home?"

"Treasure hunts?" Ryn thought about it. "During festivals, sometimes. Or you, you know, there were actual hunts, for food."

Ferus sobered instantly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to sound flip. I mean, I know how lucky I've ben, to grow up in the Jedi Temple. I can't really imagine what your childhood must have been like."

It was Ryn's turn to shrug. "It wasn't all bad." Changing the topic gracelessly: "Were you looking for me to start our match?"

"Yeah," Ferus said. "But now I have a better idea. Have you eaten?"

For a bewildered second, Ryn couldn't remember which meal he was talking about. She tallied up the hours: _Lunch_. "No," she said slowly. "I haven't eaten yet."

"So let's get you some food and I'll grab a cup of caf, and you can fill me in on what happened this morning. They've had all the Padawans rotating through security details." He frowned. "I let Evinne through this morning, is that all right?"

Well, that explained how Evinne had gotten around the lockdown.

"Yes," Ryn said. "That's fine."

They found buttered bread and thick vegetable stew in the refectory, and if the bread and stew were not made exactly as they were at home, at least they were still comfortingly recognizable. Ryn loaded a tray, gathering a cup of caf for herself, too, and followed Ferus to a table.

"Okay," he said, after he'd watched Ryn perform her usual pre-meal meditation, thanking first the One for his bounty, and then the ancestors for their protection - not that they seemed likely to hear her from Coruscant, but it felt disrespectful to give up the practice, "I know a little bit about the attack this morning. Gas grenades, melted transparisteel, you fought off droids in your underwear ... but what about your visitors? They came back, right?"

"Yeah," Ryn said, digging into the stew. "They came back, and Evinne bluffed them into leaving again. she also confirmed that their leader, at least, is Clan Ardel, which probably makes it more likely that Stevan is mixed up in all of this. I think she's worried that he may be in over his head.

"I thought she was on our side?" Ferus said.

_What do you mean, _our side_? Who's _we? Ryn thought; but aloud she said, "Well, he's family. I'm sure she's concerned about him."

"Maybe she shouldn't be," Ferus said. "It doesn't sound as though he deserves it."

Ryn paused in the act of spooning up more stew. "Now you sound like Anakin."

Ferus made a wry face. "Not a Stevan fan?"

Ryn touched the bruise she'd gotten on the cheekbone during their flight from the gas-filled rooms. "I think he holds some things against him."

"Well, I can't blame him for that," Ferus said. "It doesn't exactly give me warm feelings, either."

"Yeah, well ... maybe I don't like it so much myself," Ryn admitted. "Anyway, we still think this whole mess it tangled up with Granta Omega somehow, and soembody is deflecting transmissions so that they don't reach Loreth."

"Deflecting them where?" Ferus said, and Ryn shook her head.

"Ban-Yaro's working on it."

"Maybe he'll find something. It's a long way, but he's good at his job."

"I know," Ryn said. "It's just ... look, I know you don't really understand, but it's my _brother_ we're talking about here. If Granta Omega is holding him somewhere, maybe hurting him ... I want to _do_ something. I want to help."

Ferus nodded. "I know. That's why I brought you this." He pulled out a data crystal and set it on the table beside her tray. "That's everything I could find on Omega's interests in the Outer Rim. I thought that might get you closer to Loreth, anyway."

Ryn started to touch it, realized she had butter on her fingers, and pulled back. "Was there much?"

"Not really. I put together a list of about fifty companies and/or planets, but that includes the ones Omega has been known to do business with, as well as the ones in which he actually holds a stake. There's no guarantee you'll find a link there to anything. And I couldn't find the first mention of Stevan Ardel, or Loreth. Sorry."

Ryn hitched one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "We knew it was a long shot."

"So do you think they will make another attempt to get rid of you?"

"I don't -" Ryn began, but then her comlink chirped. "Sorry."

She activated the transmitter. "Orun here."

"This is Mace Windu. Please report to the transport pool right away."

"Yes, sir." She didn't so much mind Yoda, but she never liked to call Mace Windu _master_ if she could get around it. _You're just being petty._

"Windu out."

Ryn slipped the comlink back into her utility belt and met Ferus's eyes. "I have to go," she said unnecessarily. "I'm sorry."

"That's all right," Ferus said, pushing back his chair and standing with her. "We see each other when we can." He flashed her a brief, brilliant smile. "It's the price we pay for a life of service."

"I - yes," Ryn said. "Yes, it is."

"May the Force be with you."

She echoed his blessing and watched him go.

Mace Windu was waiting.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER NINETEEN:**

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was waiting, too. Kenobi, Skywalker and Orun arrived at his office in the Senate building to find him already ready for them, rather than making them wait as politicians were famous for doing.

He got up and came around his desk as they entered. "Master Windu, always good to see you. Master ... Kenobi, isn't it? I've heard such very good reports of you. I know your apprentice admires you greatly. And _Anakin_. Of course. How good to see you, my boy. I trust you're doing well? Good, good." He turned to Ryn, eyebrows lifted in expectation, and Windu said:

"This is Ryn Orun, from the planet of Loreth. We are seeking her government's cooperation in the pursuit of the dangerous criminal Granta Omega."

"Loreth?" Palpatine's brow creased. "Is that - forgive me, is that a Mid-Rim system? I don't ..."

"Loreth is in what you could call the Unknown Regions," Ryn said. "We mostly keep to ourselves."

"Oh, I ... Are the Unknown Regions much settled? I rather thought they were unexplored." Palpatine offered a small, self-deprecating chuckle. "Hence the name, you know."

"Settlements are sparse and travel is difficult," Ryn said. "Which I believe is why these good Jedi have asked for my assistance."

"Yes, of course," Palpatine said quickly. "I did not mean to step on any toes."

Something in his tone rankled; a hint of patronizing. Ryn felt her hackles rise, reminded herself that this man was one of Anakin's dearest friends and she owed him a decent chance, and finally managed to bare her teeth in a smile.

"No offense taken, Chancellor."

Palpatine beamed, apparently well-satisfied. "Excellent! I hope later you will be able to give me a lesson in the history of your exotic planet. For now, though - shall we sit?"

Palpatine resumed his position behind the enormous desk, with Obi-Wan and Windu sitting opposite him. Anakin and Ryn - following his lead in Jedi etiquette - took up points standing behind Obi-Wan and Windu's chairs, respectively. Standing behind Windu's shoulder did not come naturally, but her brother's life and the capture of a dangerous criminal were on the line.

Ryn gritted her teeth and did it.

* * *

The sum of the meeting was that Palpatine agreed with the Jedi that requesting Lorethan cooperation was the surest way to finding Granta Omega. But he was not at all convinced that this was a worthwhile endeavor in and of itself, or that it merited becoming entangled in the Unknown Regions.

He had a point, but no one wanted to admit it.

What Palpatine was interested in were Lorethan star charts and hyperspace routes.

Ryn demurred his probing as politely as she could until Mace Windu said, "I'm sure Commander Orun would be willing to give us the necessary data to plot routes through the area."

Then she said - striving for a tone that was at once firm and deferential, no easy task - "No."

Two Jedi, a Padawan, and the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic stared, but Ryn stood her ground, staring back at them with an impassivity that could only come from eleven months in the Jedi Temple.

"What do you mean, no?" Obi-Wan said into the silence. "How are we to pursue our hunt without hyperspace routes?"

"If you receive permission to travel through Lorethan sovereign space, you will be given a guide."

"And why cannot _you_ be our guide?" Windu asked, implacable as ever.

Ryn held back a wince. "Because I am not a trained navigator. I do not have the expertise to guide you through the wilds."

The older Jedi digested this in silence; Anakin said, "Ryn, this is important. We can't wait for the bureaucrats to ..." His voice trailed off as he took in the look on her face.

"I know the stakes," Ryn answered quietly. "But that is why it is critical that we establish contact with the High King directly. In the meantime, I believe Makesh can get us far enough to obviate the need for a comm relay station. Once we pass through the Outer Rim, we should be able to punch a signal through to Loreth, regardless of what sort of deflection technology Omega and his cronies are using."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "And you did not mention this before because ...?"

"What would you have done differently?"

"She's right," Windu said, breaking into Obi-Wan's discouragement. "The inconvenience of needing a navigator has no bearing on the clarity of our need to capture Omega. We will do what we must. Frustrations have no place in our duty."

He sounded preachy, but he was also right, so they all nodded slowly - except for Palpatine, who watched the sidebar with the sort of detached interest that would have been worthy of a Jedi. In fact ...

Ryn zoned out of the conversation, focusing her senses on Palpatine, on his curiously shrouded sense of intensity. It was hard to be sure, but behind heavy mental sheilds Ryn thought she sensed ruthlessly controlled energy, maybe more than could be explained merely by the sort of inner drive that might propel a man to Chancellorhood. Ryn was almost sure it was latent Force-sensitivity; somehow he had learned to bury it so deeply that not even the Jedi could see it, but it fueled everything he did.

_That, or I'm imagining things. I'm sleep-deprived and under stress._

She wasted some effort wondering, if she were right - and that was a big _if_ - the Jedi had never noticed. But in the end it wasn't much of a mystery; they had no reason to suspect anything, and even if they had, they were trained in a different method for detecting Force-sensitive beings. If they hadn't been, half the Temple would be staking out Loreth now, no doubt of that.

_Of course, maybe there is nothing to detect._

"...ander Orun? You appear to be concentrating deeply." Palpatine's voice. "Would you care to share your thoughts?"

Ryn felt her cheeks grow hot. "No, Your Excellency."

The Supreme Chancellor sat back and steepled his fingers. "Do please indulge me."

"I was ... wool-gathering," Ryn said desperately. "I suppose I was considering how effective the Jedi method of identifying Force-sensitives might be." That was true, sort of. _You're as bad as Kenobi_, she scolded herself. _If you're not careful, you're going to be lecturing on a "certain point of view."_

"Interesting," Palpatine said. "So how effective do you think it is?"

Ryn shrugged uncomfortably. "There are Jedi Younglings, so I guess it must be working well enough."

"But?"

"But I think a fair number fall through the cracks."

"And how would you change things?"

Ryn hesitated; but she wasn't going to lie to Anakin's friend. "I'm not sure I would, sir."

"And why not?"

"I'm not sure the Jedi have the right to conduct any such searches."

"_What_?" Anakin exclaimed, forgetting his place as a Padawan.

The corners of Palpatine's mouth lifted. "Interesting, again. Why is that?"

Windu was giving her an implacable glare; Ryn took a deep breath and soldiered on. "The Jedi identify Force-sensitive infants by testing for midichlorian count, a procedure that is usually performed in the hospital when a child is born. It's a blood test, part of the medical record, which according to Republic law is kept sealed for the privacy of the individual citizen. But the hospitals make that information available to the Jedi nonetheless. I think that's wrong."

"I wonder how many of the Republic's citizens feel the same way?" Palpatine mused. Ryn opened her mouth to explain that she really wasn't a citizen of the Republic and therefore could hardly constitute a representative sample, but Palpatine overrode her. "Thank you, my dear, for providing an alternative perspective."

Ryn eyed him cautiously, not sure whether this was a good time to point out what she'd been trying to say before.

And then the decision was taken out of her hands, because Obi-WAn said, "I fear we are digressing from the matter at hand. The approval and support of this office would be a decided advantage in asking for Loreth's cooperation."

"Certainly," Palpatine said. "Although i fail to see why such intervention should be necessary, unless the Lorethan government has some sort of objection to working with the Jedi?" He finished by glancing at Ryn.

_My day for the hot seat._

"We are cautious of outsiders, Your Excellency."

"I see. Not of the Jedi in particular?"

_Force._

"Our history with the Jedi Order is ... conflicted. But I am here as a token of goodwill." She bowed politely, even managed a small, political smile. Whether Palpatine sensed her strain was another matter.

"I see," the Supreme Chancellor murmured. "Master Jedi, you have my blessing." His gaze passed over Ryn again, and there was more calculation in it than she liked, but then what else should one expect of a man so politically savvy?

_Be fair. He has to be this way. It's his job._

"I hope, Commander Orun, that when your duties allow you will make time to teach me more about your planet's history."

Ryn smiled again, all teeth. "When my duties allow," she repeated.

"And Anakin. Be careful out there. I know you are too committed to heroism to stay safely at home, but I do worry about you."

"I appreciate your concern, Chancellor," Anakin said, blushing.

"I have never doubted it, my boy." He saw them to the door and into the cool, distant hands of his assistant.

As the door to the Chancellor's office slid shut, Ryn stumbled, hit by a wave of vertigo as powerful as a physical blow. She flailed once, groping, and caught Obi-Wan's arm, felt him latch onto her and brace her upright.

"... down, just sit right ..."

"No!" Ryn struggled against Obi-Wan's gentle insistence. "I need ... to leave."

"Soon," Obi-Wan said soothingly. "When you've recovered."

Black spots danced in front of her eyes. "I won't ... _Please_, let's just go ..." She wasn't making sense, she knew it. She couldn't make him understand ... _Anakin, please help me!_

Something tugged at her arm, and the world tilted as she felt herself being lifted. Ryn thought she might be sick.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

"... her, Master. If she wants to leave, let's get some fresh air."

That was Anakin's voice; he stood out clearer and stronger than the rest in Ryn's mind, a solid form amidst a blur or insubstantial images. Slowly she realized that he was holding her; she could feel the warmth of his shoulder against her cheek.

She hadn't realized until then that she was shivering with cold.

Shoving the voices away, she turned her face into the side of Anakin's tanned neck and breathed him in, soap an sweat and engine grease - when had he had time to tinker with machines today?

The cold knot in her stomach eased, just a little, and Ryn remembered reading somewhere that smell is the most powerful trigger for emotional memory.

If that was true, then Anakin smelled like every dream of safety she'd never had.

She was still queasy.

But Windu and Kenobi were both Jedi enough not to balk at taking direction from a Padawan who seemed to know what he was doing, so in spite of Obi-Wan's instinct to make Ryn sit down and rest, the Padawan managed to herd them all outside and down into the Senate building's overly-landscaped courtyard.

Anakin sat her down on a curving duracrete bench beneath a spreading tree that fought Coruscant's scrubbed atmosphere to stay alive and touched her cheek. "You okay?"

The distance from Palpatine's office was probably helping more than the open air, but Ryn drew in a deep breath and nodded. "I'll be all right."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Obi-Wan asked.

Ryn gulped air and nodded. "I encountered a strong psychic presence, like the day I met you and Anakin."

"Sly Moore?" Obi-Wan said, doubtfully, and Ryn shook her head.

"My guess would be Palpatine. He must be a forceful personality."

"But he's not Force-sensitive," Mace Windu pointed out. "The Jedi would know."

Ryn wasn't so sure about that, but if she was right about the Supreme Chancellor, a man's future might well be in her hands. And she had no business exposing Palpatine for shielding, just as her own people did every single day.

She said, "One need not be strong in the Force to have a powerful psyche. The two often go together, but not always."

The Jedi absorbed these words of wisdom with their usual attention; Ryn relaxed back against the bole of the tree.

Obi-Wan said, "But you didn't react until we were leaving."

Eyes closing, Ryn shrugged. "Psychic energy is not constant. It fluctuates." Over-simplified, but basically true. "Some people are consistently stronger than others, some shield better, but everyone has peaks and valleys."

"The main thing," Anakin said, "is that you're all right now." An edge of concern entered his voice, roughening his attempt at Jedi calm. "You _are_ all right, aren't you?"

Ryn fought the urge to reach for his hand. If the Jedi ever suspected how close they really were ... "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

"Yes, you're the picture of health," Obi-Wan said drily, clearly unconvinced. "But if you think you're well enough to travel, our wisest course will be to return to the Temple."

"I'm fine," Ryn reiterated firmly. "Just a little groggy."

Obi-Wan looked skeptical, but Anakin wanted it to be true badly enough to ask no questions.

Ryn got to her feet, a little unsteadily, and faced them. "I'm feeling better. Really."

She thought she saw Obi-Wan start to roll his eyes, but he restrained himself, and just took her arm instead, guiding her down the steps out of the courtyard.

She'd rather have leaned on Anakin's arm, but she smiled at Obi-Wan anyway, and he patted her shoulder with something like affection.

"Anyway," she said brightly, "we did what we came to do. We got Palpatine's approval."

"Now all we need is a trail," Anakin said morosely.

"About that ..." Ryn dug out the data crystal Ferus had given her during lunch. "I was going to tell you after we got back. Ferus put together a list of Omega's known contacts in the Outer Rim. I thought we could maybe get a list of Stevan's associates from Evinne and cross-reference."

Obi-Wan took the crystal. "How long is the list?"

Ryn shrugged. "I haven't had a chance to look at it. Ferus says there's not much."

"We'll look at it together," Anakin said, and Ryn raised an eyebrow at him.

_Stop trying to compete, Anakin. There is nothing to be jealous about_.

Anakin blushed and looked away, and she knew he'd gotten the message.

There was nothing else she could do in front of the older Jedi, anyway.

"I suggest you look on your way to the edge of the galaxy," Windu said briskly. "The sooner this mission gets under way, the better."


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to George Lucas. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction. But I am having an outrageously good time.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

Evinne was fairly certain she'd never seen anything like this mess before.

There was Kenobi, who was a little too Coruscanti to go wandering about the Outer Rim unsupervised. How did a man cultivate such a prim air at his age, anyway?

There was Ryn, of course, so worried about her missing brother she could hardly see straight and stealing sidelong glances at Skywalker just the same.

There was Skywalker, too, clearly awkward around Ryn (it was obvious that something big had happened last night, but evidently it hadn't gone well) and doing a bad impression of focused Jedi.

That left Makesh, who was doing a _good_ impression of tortured outcast, and Evinne herself, who had some pretty conflicted feelings about the mission in general and Kitraal Orun in particular.

_Force, what a band of misfits. It's like the cast of a bad holocomedy._

"Well," she said slowly, "Commander Orun has asked me to begin the briefing, so I guess I'll begin at the beginning. Using the information provided by Padawan Olin, we have sketched an outline of Omega's known business interests. Since we have reason to believe he may be involved with my brother, we have narrowed the list to companies or planets that Clan Ardel has traded with in the past. The most likely candidate appears to be Arabin, a world which until fairly recently was under the control of the Trade Federation and therefore exempt from much Senatorial scrutiny."

Obi-Wan lifted a hand. "The Trade Federation no longer has a presence there?"

"According to my sources -" Hondo, but there was no need for them to know that " - they pulled out just over a year ago, possibly because they had depleted the planet's natural resources to the point that it was no longer a profitable venture. Pirates and smugglers have been using the abandoned spaceports for a staging area ever since. What makes it of particular interest to us is that a branch of K'Rikk Chemical was stationed there under Trade Federation control, part of some sort of corporate sharing arrangement. And according to the lab report, K'Rikk is a manufacturer of the chemical toxin found in the gas grenades used in the attack on Orun's quarters early this morning."

Makesh nodded. "That's a lot of coincidence."

"That's what we thought, too." Evinne took a deep breath. "Anticipating a certain amount of resistance from our leaders, Commander Orun and I, in cooperation with Master Windu, have decided to treat this as a joint mission. Makesh Aravel and I will comprise the Lorethan team, rather than forcing Commander Orun to play both sides. I have prepared assignments for each of us, to be completed no later than six hundred hours, Coruscant Standard Time. If we meet that goal, we should be able to ship out by seven hundred hours tomorrow morning. The clock is running, so we need to move quickly if we are to overturn Omega's plot." She passed out the datapads with assignment details. "Any questions?" Nobody said anything, so she nodded. "Then I will turn the briefing over to Master Kenobi, who is coordinating the Jedi effort."

* * *

Surveying his team, Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel a moment's qualm. They were all so _young_ - even Makesh couldn't be much past twenty. And this was a mission Anakin might not be ready for. Obi-Wan trusted his apprentice to stay alert and ready for trouble at the fringe of the galaxy, but he wasn't nearly as confident of his ability to stay emotionally uninvolved. Ryn was an attachment, no doubt about it. Anakin cared for her more deeply than the length and nature of their association could explain. Yet Obi-Wan had come to see that his task was not to remove temptation from Anakin's path, but to help him face and overcome it, as Qui-Gon had once done for him.

_Siri_ ...

Looking back wasn't part of the deal.

Evinne and Makesh were unpredictable, necessary but unwelcome variables in their navigation. And Ryn was ... well, _Ryn_: determined but conflicted, worried about her brother and struggling with her personal feelings. Obi-Wan trusted her integrity, her courage under fire, her selflessness.

Her judgment was another matter.

She stayed quiet through his part of the briefing, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Anakin - not for much longer, he was gaining height on her at an astonishing rate - with her arms folded and her jaw locked. She was clearly unhappy, but since nothing was apt to help her except finding her brother alive and well, there wasn't much Obi-Wan could do that he wasn't already doing.

Evinne stood off to one side, mirroring Ryn's stance but looking focused rather than tense. She wasn't the type to get nervous in a hurry; Obi-Wan could see why Ryn had pushed for her to take a leading role in this mission.

Makesh leaned discreetly against the wall, attentively silent.

Obi-Wan ran down the list of everything the Jedi knew about Omega so far. He saw a flicker of recognition pass through Ryn's eyes a couple of times and guessed that Anakin had already told her some of what he was saying.

He squashed the feeling of betrayal. Their missions hadn't been confidential, and in any case they could trust Ryn with their lives. There was no reason why Anakin should regard their hunt for Omega as a private matter.

It hurt anyway.

"Omega is dangerous," he concluded. "His obsession with the Force presents a threat not only to the Jedi, but to Loreth's mystics. I know that you will all do your best to assist in his capture, but remember: Omega is wily. Be wary of traps. And do not forget the first Jedi principle of combat: survive."

* * *

There was someone she had to see before she left.

Ryn carved out a half-hour somehow and tracked Revin down in the Temple branch of the Agri-Corps, where Padawans destined for service were quartered before they were rotated out. Revin wasn't a Padwan - had no ability to manipulate the Force at all - but he had been given a place as a maintenance engineer on one of the Agri-Corps' transport ships, at least temporarily.

The Jedi hadn't turned him away.

She smiled up at him when he opened the door, trying not to let her worries show in her eyes.

"Ryn?" he said, startled but not displeased.

"I heard the news," Ryn said, as cheerfully as she could. "You're going to be saving the galaxy now, huh?"

"Wha - Oh. The Agri-Corps. Well, it's a job, anyway. Room and board."

_That's not much_, Ryn thought. "People need to eat," she said agreeably. "It's good work. Meaningful."

"Yeah, I guess." Revin stepped back and waved her into his bare little room, even sparser and sadder than her own.

_That'll teach me to feel sorry for myself._

She perched on the edge of a chair and studied Revin. "You're not happy about it," she observed at last. "How can I help?"

"I don't think you can." Revin gave her a small smile. "Not everything is your responsibility, you know."

_Maybe I'm picking up bad habits from Anakin._ "At least tell me what's bothering you."

"I ..." He tried to pace, which was hard as the room couldn't be much more than three strides long. "It's just ... they're _Jedi_, you know? And I'm ... not."

Ryn considered this. "They aren't, really," she said carefully. "The Agri-Corps is comprised of the ones who didn't make it to Jedihood."

Revin barked a laugh. "Okay, so they're _failed_ Jedi. And I'm not even that."

Ryn forebore to point out that truly failed Jedi were more likely to embark on careers of galactic destruction than crop rotation. "Is it so important to you?"

"I ... maybe. I don't know," Revin admitted. "I just don't ... belong. They're not like me." He looked down. "They were never slaves."

_Oh, this is not good._ Ryn could feel the churning mix of shame and anger tainting his soul, and it was far too familiar for comfort.

"The fact that you were once a slave doesn't say anything about you except that you are a survivor," she said firmly.

Revin didn't look convinced. He didn't contradict her, but he shuffled his feet and looked away, unhappy.

_Come on ..._

"You remember my friend Anakin, right?" Ryn said desperately. Ridiculous question, after the night they'd spent under the threadbare blanket Revin had found, the three of them pressed close for warmth.

Revin shuffled again. "Yeah?"

"He was born a slave."

That got his attention. Revin forgot to be sullen and met her eyes, looking a question at her.

"He won his freedom in a Podrace," Ryn said, by way of explanation. "And now he is one of the most powerful Jedi alive." _No need to point out that he may be the most powerful Jedi ever _born_. _

"Is that why the Jedi sent him? Because he knew how to act like a slave?"

Their brief, determined verbal sparring with Obi-Wan's reluctance intruded on her mind; Ryn pushed the memory away. "He volunteered," she said, which was at least a part of the truth. "But it might be why Master Kenobi agreed."

"That's ... really good," Revin said, clearly trying to drum up some enthusiasm. "I'm glad Anakin was able to make something of himself." He paused. "But I'm not like that. I'll never be a Jedi. I don't have any special powers. It's not the same."

Ryn sighed. She obviously wasn't making her point here. She fought the urge to press a hand to her aching head. Regrouped and tried again. "I don't ..." _love_ "... respect Anakin so much because he is a powerful Jedi," she said slowly. "I respect him because he is a decent being. He was better than his circumstances. And so are you."

Revin didn't know quite what to make of that; she could feel his uncertainty. _Let him think on it._ "Anyway," Ryn said, changing the topic before he could come up with a counterargument - a favorite trick of one Master Kenobi. "What's your first mission?

* * *

Saying goodbye to Ferus was harder in a way, because of course Ferus would never recognize - or at least never admit - the need to say goodbye at all. Ryn did it anyway.

"We'll be leaving in a few hours," she said, leaning in the doorway of his bedroom after Siri had let her in.

Ferus nodded. "Still no word from Loreth?"

"No. But once we get through the Outer Rim we should be able to punch a hyperwave through without using the relay stations.

"But it's not a sure thing."

"The only thing certain in life is death."

"Cheerful philosophy."

That rare, slow smile warmed her blood.

Ryn let her cheek come to rest against the doorframe and smiled back at him, crookedly. "Sorry. Just ... take care of yourself, will you?"

"Me?" Ferus said. "You're the one flying off to the ends of the galaxy."

"It's home to me," Ryn countered. "You're the one who's going to be racing around the galaxy like some sort of Jedi."

Ferus laughed. "I'll be careful if you promise to do the same."

"You got it."

She didn't hug him goodbye.

* * *

Reviews make a ficcer's heart go thump!


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

The five of them were all in the docking bay at oh-six-hundred that morning. Ryn looked up and acknowledged Anakin's arrival with a jerk of her head as he stepped through the door, last on the scene.

"Nice job," she told him, indicating the ship.

Anakin lifted his eyebrows. "How did you know choosing a ship was my assignment?"

Ryn just grinned at him. "I might've offered a few suggestions on the allocations of personnel."

"Uh-huh." Anakin shook his head at her, but he let it go. "The ship really is a beauty, Ryn. Fast, sleek, advanced navigation -"

They both turned at the same time, alerted by a sense of urgency behind, and saw Cam running through the massive docking bay doors.

Ryn blinked. They'd hardly seen Cam since rescuing him fro Ziro's palace. The boy had not, as Ryn recalled, been all that impressed with them and their messy extraction. Now he charged through the door, brown eyes burning, fixed on Evinne.

"You think you can just leave me here?" he demanded. "You think you can just abandon me?"

Evinne didn't quite flinch, but she went so still she might as well have done.

Her eyes were cautious as she took him in. "This is a safe place, Cam. The Jedi will take good care of you until I get back."

"I don't need anyone to take care of me!" Cam raged, his voice raw with pain and fear. "I can take care of myself!"

Evinne grew even stiller, her perfect face an ivory carving, flawless and immobile. "Then what is the matter?"

"I thought you were my _friend_!" Cam shouted. "And now, you want to ditch me in this madhouse? _Not a chance!_ If you leave me here, don't think I'll still be waiting around when you get back!"

"Cam ..." Evinne began, frustrated, but Cam cut her off.

"I was taking care of myself before you came along. I can take care of myself again."

Evinne's sharp blue eyes were unhappy. "I know you're tough, Cam. But I'm going on a mission. I need to know you're _here_."

"_No!_"

Evinne shrugged at him, clearly baffled by his reaction. "What the hell, Cam? I've gone on jobs without you before. I went on another one last week. We don't have to always work together."

"I'm not staying here," Cam reiterated, defiant, but something in the way he said it gave Ryn a clue.

She concentrated, felt the agitation of fear and anger in the young boy, backed by ... that hollow feeling she'd come to recognize in herself.

"Evinne."

"Cam, I don't -"

"Evinne!"

Evinne shot her an exasperated look. "_What_?"

"I think the Temple itself might be the problem."

"What?" Evinne said again, but she wasn't angry this time. She turned back to the frightened, furious boy. "Cam?" A flicker of a dark suspicion entered her tone. "Has someone been mistreating you here?"

"No!" Cam answered, desperate, clearly indignant at the suggestion that he might be the victim of a bullying. "No one even _talks_ to me."

Ryn met Evinne's eyes and nodded: here was the real problem.

"Fuck," Evinne whispered, glancing upward in a parody of prayer. "I can't - _fuck_. I can't do this right now. I can't fix the kriffing Jedi Temple." She speared the boy with a look, blue eyes keen and hard as spear-points in the sunlight. "What do you want me to do, Cam? How am I supposed to fix this?"

"I want to come with you," Cam said promptly.

"You can't," Evinne replied, just as certain. "I don't even have clearance to bring you into the territory."

"You don't have permission to bring the Jedi in, either," Cam countered. "Communications with Loreth have been out since yesterday."

Evinne's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

"Ryn told Revin."

"_Ryn_," said Obi-Wan repressively.

Ryn winced, but Evinne waved this off, focusing on Cam. "I have a _reason_ to bring the Jedi in," she said sternly. "A reason I am willing to stake my life and honor on. It's _different_."

Ryn could have told her that was the wrong argument to make, but Evinne didn't see the trap until it was too late.

Cam folded his arms over his stocky young chest in an expression of triumphant belligerence. "So I'm not a reason?" he demanded hotly. "I don't _matter_? I'm _miserable_ here, but I'm not as important as your stupid mission?"

Evinne stared at him, her mouth working. There was something in her eyes so bleak that Ryn recoiled from it. She made a strangled, helpless noise, and then abruptly quieted and locked gazes with the boy. "No," she said bluntly, finally. "You're not. And neither am I. None of us is. This is what it means to be born noble. Thank whatever gods you pray to that you weren't."

Cam was shocked into silence; he'd been so sure he'd _had_ her. Ryn could feel it.

Obi-Wan stepped forward and took him by the shoulder. "You are unhappy here," he said, not ungently. "I am sorry for that. But making your friend unhappy in turn is not the answer. Can you honestly say you feel better now?"

Cam glowered. "I'd feel better if I could come with her."

"Not for long," Obi-Wan said, unexpectedly wise. "You would begin to feel guilty about what you have done here today. You would start to wonder whether she took you along just to humor you. Soon you would question whether she even wanted you around at all."

"She obviously doesn't!" Cam shouted, his voice angry, but Ryn thought she glimpsed tears in his eyes. "She was going to just leave without saying goodbye!"

"I _did_ say goodbye, Cam," Evinne said, her voice straining. "I left a holorecording on your pillow. I just -"

"_I found your stupid holorecording!_"

In the silence that followed, the harsh sound of Cam's breathing was loud.

He got enough air to form words again. "You talked like you were _dying_, like you didn't want to say goodbye because you were _never coming back_ ... You _owed_ it to me. You should have said goodbye to my _face_!"

"I know," Evinne said abruptly, breaking in. "I'm sorry. I thought it would be easier this way. I was wrong." She took a deep breath and jumped down off the loading ramp to meet him eye-to-eye. Well, nearly. Evinne had a good foot of height on Cam. "I'm sorry," she said again. "But this is _why_ I can't take you, don't you see? You're not prepared for a job like this. You don't know the local customs. And this mission has _got_ to stay under the radar. No non-essential personnel. I'm sorry, Cam, but I need you _here_. I know you'll keep an eye on things. And it's better if you stay in the Temple, where you won't have the others looking over your shoulders all the time."

She put her hands on his shoulders. "I trust you, Cam. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you could handle it. But you can't take care of squat from the fringe of the galaxy."

"I hate it here," Cam whispered, broken.

"I know," Evinne answered. "I'm asking you to stay anyway. _Please_."

Cam snuffled. "Just ... come back, okay?"

"I will," Evinne said. "If I survive this mission, I will come back for you, Cam. I promise."

"_If_ you survive?" Cam said. "No. You _have_ to survive."

Evinne smiled and cuffed him lightly on the cheek. "I'll do my best."

* * *

Master Yoda came to see them off. He waved to Evinne and Makesh, gave sage advice and his blessing to Anakin and Obi-Wan, and came to Ryn last, standing waiting at the bottom of the loading ramp.

"Hmm," he said. "A great trial, I see for you."

_Well, that's encouraging._ "I'll do my best, Master Yoda."

"Difficult for you, this mission will be."

"I think I knew that part already."

Yoda shook his head. "Understand, you do not. But young, you are. Resilient. Learn well, you may." He reached up to take her hand, pressing it gently rather than bowing. "May the Force be with you, young Orun."

"And with you, Master Yoda."

Yoda was still standing in the docking bay with Cam when the landing ramp closed behind her.


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Yeah, gratuitous angst in this chapter. Anakin Skywalker may not be entirely stable.

...

...

...

Yeah, okay, good point. The rest of them aren't exactly examples of emotional health, either.

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

Anakin glanced right, to Ryn's still white profile. The cockpit lights glowed against her pale skin, turning it into a flickering map of red and blue. She had to know he was staring at her, but she didn't look up and meet his eyes in friendly greeting. "Ryn."

Her eyes closed briefly, their extravagant lashes fluttering down and then dragging back upward, surrendering to the inevitable of conversation. "Yes?"

"It will be okay. We _will_ find a way to help Kit. I promise you."

(He's never been able to resist the promise to help. The last time, the final time, the time that breaks every promise he's ever made, will be the only one that ever teaches him anything.)

She did look at him, then - just a quick glance, but it was enough for him to see the bleakness lurking in her green eyes. "Don't. The only promise I want from you is that you will be _careful_."

She could say that just like his mom; he didn't think she knew.

"I will," Anakin said, and Ryn looked up from toying with her zipper to give him a decidedly skeptical stare.

"I will!" Anakin protested, defensive now.

"Okay," Ryn said, relenting; but she didn't sound so much relieved as resigned.

He _hated_ that look on her face. Hated the way it spoke of all the things he'd never be able to fix. She'd been crying earlier, he knew she had.

He was the most gifted Padawan in the Order, had more midichlorians than Yoda, but it wasn't enough. He couldn't stop Ryn's tears.

_And Mom is still a slave._

Some of what he was feeling must have leaked through his shields, because Ryn met his eyes again. "You okay?"

Anakin managed to smile for her. "You stole my question."

The concern in Ryn's eyes didn't fade, so he added, "I'm fine. I was just thinking about my mom."

Ryn understood that hole in his life as no one else ever would. She reached out and gripped his shoulder in a quick gesture of comfort, the most she would risk in front of Obi-Wan. Privately Anakin thought that at the moment Ryn deserved solace more than he did, but he smiled his thanks at her anyway.

She dropped her hand and resumed her moody contemplation of hyperspace, swirling past them in hypnotic sparks of blue-white light.

"Are you cold?" Anakin asked her, still groping for a way to help, and Ryn returned her attention to him with a frown.

"Say what?"

"Are you cold?"

Ryn hunched her shoulders and slid further down in her seat. "No."

She sounded sulky. Ryn _never_ sounded sulky.

"Are you sure?" Anakin asked her, perplexed. "I can get you a blanket."

"I'm not cold," Ryn repeated firmly.

"You're wearing your jacket and sitting all hunched -"

"I said I wasn't -" Ryn cut herself off as Evinne glanced over her shoulder from the co-pilot's seat.

She waited until the older girl had returned her attention to the viewscreen and continued more quietly: "It's embarrassing, okay?"

Anakin shook his head at her. "_What_ is embarrassing?"

Ryn made a soft huffing noise and eased down the zipper on her jacket, gripping the loose sides and arching her back a little - he was fairly certain she had no idea how concupiscent she looked when she did that - so he could see inside.

Her shirt was black, snug and stretchy (in that it matched most of her other clothes), and scrawled across Ryn's perky little breasts - _oh, stang, you lie, you _are_ cold and I've seen the proof_ - with flowing, flamboyant silver script that proclaimed definitively: _PODRACERS DO IT BETTER_.

Ryn let him take a good look, then hauled the zipper back up with an air of grim finality.

"Podracers do _what_ better?" Anakin inquired.

Ryn looked away, her pale cheeks turning a heated fuschia. "Sex."

She half-mumbled the word, but Anakin heard it clearly and felt the backwash of her discomfort.

For the first few seconds Anakin was as embarrassed by the whole topic as she obviously was. Then his Jedi training reasserted itself, coming to his rescue in Obi-Wan's remembered voice:

_Use the Force, Anakin. Think._

Anakin jerked his chin toward Evinne's slim, straight back and looked a question at his best friend.

Ryn nodded, her chin practically tucked into her jacket collar.

"Surely she gave you something else?"

Ryn nodded again. "Mostly revealing." She shrugged uncomfortably. "I thought it would be better to wear this first and get it out of the way."

Anakin looked at the way she sat hunched over the incriminating display on her chest, even covered by the tattered leather jacket. "Good job."

Ryn hunched tighter. "Don't laugh," she mumbled.

"Not even a little?" Anakin teased, and then grinned back at her furious glare. "Come on, Ryn. It's just a shirt."

"And it might as well have a label saying _I'm desperate_!"

"Oh, please," Anakin said. "Nobody thinks you're desperate."

Ryn stared at the blinking lights on the console between Obi-Wan and Evinne, just ahead. "Then they're wrong." She bit her lip and turned away. "Anyway, you certainly seemed to think so."

It took Anakin a couple of seconds to figure out what she was talking about. "You're lonely. It isn't the same thing."

Ryn shifted her weight in the tiny cockpit chair, refusing to look at him. "It _feels_ the same."

"It isn't." Anakin nudged her foot with his. "You're too strong to be desperate. You'd shrivel anyone who called you a needy woman with one good glare."

The edges of Ryn's mouth softened a little; not quite a smile, but a recognition of his effort. "_Shrivel_? I'm not a witch, Anakin."

"Don't be too sure," he told her lightly. "Kitster told me once he'd heard that all green-eyed women were witches."

Ryn laughed under her breath; he could see the hitch in her shoulders, hear the soft change in her breathing. "What about green-eyed men?"

"Kitster never got to that part," Anakin told her, relieved at the flash of humor. "His stories weren't very good, usually." He sobered and touched her arm. "But it doesn't matter. You're magic anyway."

She almost flinched; he felt her sudden leap of tension. _What? What did I say?_ "No, I'm not, Anakin," she insisted. "I'm just an ordinary mortal, like you."

There was something lurking beneath her words: a sense of fear and pain and loss he hadn't expected. "Ryn?"

She shook it off, submerging whatever it was he'd half-glimpsed. "Nothing."

"I didn't mean to make you unhappy," he said, uncertain of his ground.

"You didn't," Ryn said shortly, but for once he didn't believe her.

"Ryn ..."

"I'm fine, Anakin."

Anakin winced at the brittle tone. He leaned close and lowered his voice still further, pretty sure that whatever she was hiding, she wouldn't thank him for drawing anyone else's attention to it.

"We need to talk," he murmured. "And they don't need us up here." He indicated the still, straight figures of Evinne and Obi-Wan, focused in their work and politely ignoring the sotto voce conversation going on behind them.

Ryn rose without comment and led the way silently back through the sleeping compartment, where Makesh took one look at their faces and started to leave.

Ryn waved him back into his bunk and continued past him into the storage compartment, where she pulled up sharply against a storage crate and wrapped her arms around her ribs, her small face tight and angular in the dim illumination, shadows deepening around her eyes and beneath her cheekbones.

Half in profile to Anakin, she hugged herself and mumbled, "So talk."

Anakin secured the door carefully and studied her. If someone had asked him, a week ago, whether Ryn Orun knew how to sulk, he'd have said no. But he had to admit, she was off to a good start now.

Anakin eased his own shields and reached through the Force to touch hers, the teasing caress he'd learned during their stay belowstairs in Ziro's brothel.

She'd always liked it before. Now she flinched away, retreating as though he'd slapped her.

"Ryn?" he said aloud, hearing the surprised hurt in his own voice.

"Sorry," Ryn mumbled, but she didn't relax. "You wanted to talk, right? Well, I'm listening."

_No, you're not,_ Anakin thought. _You're shutting me out every way you can._

But he knew now where he'd seen that stance before. Her quick little flinch had given it away.

The memories threatened to swamp him in flashbacks, _blood clotted with sand on smooth thighs, tears sound over crying wind_, but Anakin shut them out and narrowed his focus to the here and now, trailing his Force perceptions over Ryn's shields for whatever he could find.

_Let me in_, he urged her silently. _Come on ..._

He found the flaw he'd sought, a weakness in her self-containment, and probed carefully, no sudden moves.

No wonder she'd flinched. The feelings leaking from her smarted, too raw for touch. There was inchoate fear and misery, an anxiety clenched beneath her breastbone: but tainting everything was the weeping pain of humiliation, seeping from her Force presence like blood from an open wound.

Anakin gave an involuntary whimper of sympathy, and Ryn flinched again, the shame sharpening like a fresh wash of blood.

"Ryn, what -"

She slammed her shields tight so hard and fast that Anakin recoiled, feeling the impact like a physical blow.

She saw his stagger and winced. "Anakin, maybe now isn't the best time to -"

Anakin peeled his hands off his pounded head in time to catch her shoulders as she turned for the door. "No, _now_," he bit out, dragging her back to face him. "Tell me why you're hiding from me."

"I'm right -"

He set her back against the wall sharply enough to make her teeth snap together. "You're hiding and you know it. Now tell me why."

Ryn shifted her shoulders under his grip, twisting a little, but he held on, determined not to let her go in case he never got her back again.

She looked down.

Anakin shook her lightly. "Ryn, please. Look at me." She raised her eyes slowly to his, brilliant green depths darkened with misery.

"I know ... I know I did everything wrong," Anakin said thickly. "But we can make this right, I know we can." He had to believe it, at least. "Don't you trust me?"

Ryn opened her mouth to speak, but it was too late. He'd seen the hesitation in her eyes. Whatever she was about to say, it wouldn't match the unconditional shared trust that had united them against Ziro's goons, the solid reliance on each other thad had defeated a veritable army of bounty hunters, that had carried them through fire and fear and battle.

Whatever she was about to say, it wasn't enough.

Anakin dropped his hands and backed slowly away, reeling from the sense of loss. He felt as though he'd stumbled over the edge of some hidden pit and was plummeting, weightless, through freefall to a sickening end.

He turned and stumbled out of the compartment, queasy with emptiness.

He couldn't think, could barely see straight, couldn't _breathe_.

"Skywalker?" Makesh's voice, edgy with concern. "Skywalker, are you all right?"

Like a wounded animal, Anakin shied away from the noise. "I'm fine," he mumbled. "I just need to be alone."

"You got it, kid." It was only when Makesh got up to leave that Anakin realized he was running the older man out; he felt badly about that, but he didn't have the energy and focus to go after him.

He sank down on the edge of the nearest bunk and put his head in his hands. His face was wet; had he been crying?

He shouldn't be this upset. It wasn't as if Ryn had _died_; he hadn't lost her forever. He could earn her trust back, he had to.

But he shouldn't _have_ to, damn it. She'd promised, said she'd be there forever ...

All right, he'd screwed up, handled things badly, run when he should have talked ... but he'd admitted it. He'd said he was sorry. And he'd been trying to talk to her, to make things right between them again, but she didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to hear _him_.

He could feel her on the other side of the bulkhead, muted sorrow and turmoil. She reached for him, tentatively, and he slapped her away, a fierce push with the Force and his own will, slamming her outside his mental shields.

If anyone should be sorry, it was Ryn.

* * *

Next: Turns out there's a dark reason for all this angst.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Yeah, okay, I lied. You won't discover the "dark reason" behind all the angst for a couple more chapters. Why? Because I'm clearly sadistic, and like to drag out their angstiness ...

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

Sitting on a crate in the darkened storage compartment, Ryn had reached the same conclusion. She could feel Anakin's hurt morphing into anger beyond the door, and she found she couldn't really blame him. She had been so wound up in her own misery that she hadn't spared a thought for his, hadn't even noticed how much he was hurting until he'd pinned her to the wall and forced her to meet his eyes.

She was sorry, but she knew better than to apologize to Anakin while he was in a temper. He wasn't likely to hear anything she had to say until he calmed down.

* * *

Life on the ship took on a strained rhythm. Anakin and Ryn avoided each other when they could, kept their shields up when they couldn't.

There was one awful, broken moment when Ryn tried to apologize.

She ran into him at the door to the galley and froze, paralyzed by her need for him.

"Anakin." His name tore a path through her throat.

He looked past her. "What?"

"I know I hurt you," Ryn gasped, "and I'm sorry ..."

"You didn't hurt me."

he never looked at her, just started moving again, and Ryn stepped reflexively out of his way, the movement a jerky little spasm of loss.

She didn't try again.

* * *

Ryn stayed out of sight for the next couple of days, as much as anyone could on a ship of that size.

But she was always _there._ Even more than in the Temple, where the muted hum of so many minds at least smothered his perceptions of her unless she was very close.

Or if she was reaching for him. He had gotten used to finding her a thought away when he woke from a nightmare. It was one of the things they never talked about, her silent, ever-present reassurance.

She always knew.

She seemed to spend most her time doing gymnastics in the hallways, quick spins and tumbles interspersed with some very challenging katas.

She always fled as soon as he drew near, but he felt her anyway.

He felt her all the time, and yet he missed her desperately.

* * *

Obi-Wan didn't mention the tension. It seemed clear enough that Anakin and Ryn had had some sort of a lover's quarrel, or broken things off somehow; and while they were both miserable for the moment, in the long run it might be best for everyone to simply let their youthful tragedy run its course.

In the meantime, neither of them was shirking shipboard duties, so Obi-Wan was determined to let them have their time to grieve.

He thought of Siri with a pang, and their abrupt severance.

Better to let Anakin and Ryn recover at their own pace.

Evinne had other ideas.

She cornered him in the galley on their third day out from Coruscant.

"How long do we let this go on?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Evinne narrowed her eyes at him as she poured a cup of caf without looking, a casual display of skill and coordination that was somehow damnably attractive. "You know perfectly well what I mean."

_There is that._ "I assume you refer to the newly-precarious relations between my Padawan and your countrywoman?"

"Very astute."

"I think it's healthy to let them deal with the problem in their own way. The end of a relationship is always hard."

"_Healthy?_" Evinne snorted. "They're killing themselves to stay out of each other's way." She took a sip of her caf and grimaced at the taste. "Force, Skywalker should stick to engines. This stuff tastes like starfighter fuel." She downed a healthy gulp anyway. "And who says it has to be the end?" she demanded, her eyes sharp on his face. "I thought they were the real thing. Comrades in arms. Friends to the death. Inseparable."

"No two beings are inseparable," Obi-Wan said, on principle, watching Evinne inhale more car with a brisk shudder that shook out her golden hair.

"Yeah?" she said, scowling at her cup in distaste. "You see what separation is doing for them?" She shook her head, sadness tinting her aura. "They're unraveling, Obi-Wan. This isn't the kind of hardship that makes you stronger."

He felt like a traitor for saying it, but: "I think it may be for the best. Anakin has always struggled with attachments. It may be good for him to let someone go and see that it isn't the end of the galaxy."

"Yes, Ryn is obviously a very bad influence," Evinne said, sending him a scathing look over her cup. "That was _sarcasm_, by the way."

"I'd noticed," Obi-Wan murmured, watching her, half-entranced despite himself. There was something almost hypnotic about Evinne, the absolute focus with which she did everything. The sheer intensity she brought to an activity as simple as drinking her morning caf was unnerving.

He cleared his throat. "Perhaps we might steer this conversation in a more productive direction. What is it that you want me to _do_?"

"Trade shifts with Skywalker this morning," Evinne answered promptly. "You'd have been working with Orun, so they'll have some time together."

"Ah," said Obi-Wan, sipping his tea. "You may have noticed that they are hardly speaking to each other. Does your plan involve talking out their issues? Because there could be a flaw."

Evinne tutted at him and topped off her cup. "So negative, Master Kenobi. But I have a theory."

"A theory."

"Yes. Anakin is angry, right?"

It stung to admit it, but ... "Yes."

"But he wouldn't ordinarily want to see Ryn hurt, right?"

_Master, they're _torturing_ her ..._ "No. He wouldn't."

"So we put them in a room together and wait for Skywalker's better nature to assert itself." She grinned cheekily. "I have faith in him. The gamble is whether Shorty can restrain herself from doing anything galactically stupid before he gets there."

Obi-Wan frowned at her. "Are you a betting woman normally?"

Evinne winked at him. _So very charming, when she wants to be._ "Live a little, Master Kenobi." She drained her cup and sashayed off, no doubt to implement her plan.

Obi-Wan sighed meditatively and sipped his tea.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

She was _beautiful_. How had he forgotten that? It was as if, somewhere along the way, he'd stopped really seeing his best friend.

Glancing sideways at her chiseled profile now, seeing the indicator lights shift across her delicate features, Anakin remembered something he'd always known and never paid attention to: Ryn was _staggeringly_ good-looking.

He adjusted their course minutely, fiddling with the controls for something to do, but he was seeing the look on Imram's face the first time Ryn had smiled at him, her real smile.

He was remembering the way Ferus stared and lost his place in the conversation ... well, nearly every time Ryn walked into a room, lately.

And she'd wanted _him_.

He hadn't wanted her, and he was still furious at what she'd done, the way she'd shut him out, but it didn't seem right - that he had learned every angle and curve, the startling black-on-white contrast of her hair and skin, the sharpness of her features, the outlines of lithe muscles hiding beneath her bulky jacket now, and never cared.

She had to know she was gorgeous, but she had deserved to hear it from him, at least once.

She'd certainly let him know she found him attractive, after all.

He cleared his throat. "Ryn?"

"Yes?"

He'd been about to tell her to check the fuel gauge, because they _were_ going to need to fill up soon and because _you're beautiful and I should have told you_ wasn't much of a way to open a conversation. But there was something odd about Ryn's voice, something almost choked, that made him turn and look at her more closely.

Her face was absolutely still in a way that had become uncomfortably familiar over the last few days, but the cockpit lights were reflecting off it in little prisms, not a normal way for even Ryn's sparkling-pale skin to respond to light.

He forgot the fuel gauge and said quietly, "Look at me."

She turned to face him, mechanically obedient, and Anakin felt his breath catch, because Ryn was _crying_.

Silent tears streamed unchecked down her pale, set face. No sobs, not even a hitch in her breathing: just this steady, unacknowledged weeping.

"What do you need?" she asked dully, staring at him without meeting his eyes.

"Ryn," he said carefully. _No sudden moves._ "Did you know you were crying?"

She reached up and touched her face: pulled her hand away and stared at the tears glistening on her fingertips as though not sure what she was seeing.

"Sorry," she said uncertainly, and turned back to her co-pilot's console without ever looking him full in the face.

Sometime later, Anakin remembered to say, "Check the fuel gauge."

* * *

Evinne and Makesh showed up to take the next shift, at least one of them in high hopes of finding the two youngest members of the expedition reconciled to each other and the past forgotten.

That wasn't going to happen.

Evinne halted in the doorway, her anticipatory smile fading as she took them in.

"Shorty, can I talk to you?"

Ryn flicked a glance at Anakin and stood up, her expression guarded in a way Evinne remembered all too well.

She stepped through the hatch, following Evinne, and waited in defensive silence.

_The hell with this,_ Evinne thought.

"Skywalker."

Ryn's gaze flickered to the floor and then returned to its straight-ahead rigidity. "What?"

"Don't give me 'what'," Evinne said. "You're upset with him. I want to know why."

"None of your business," Ryn answered sullenly.

"With the two of you skulking around the ship like beaten dogs? The hell it isn't." Evinne scowled at her. "Out with it."

Ryn's jaw worked, but finally she said, "I'm not upset with him. He's upset with me."

"You've been crying," Evinne said shortly. "An activity which in adult humans typically indicates some sort of emotional distress."

Ryn locked her jaw shut, giving nothing away, and Evinne sighed. "Fine. Why is Skywalker upset with you?"

There was the crack in Ryn's facade; a thread of genuine confusion showed through. "Either because I tried to touch his penis, or because I didn't want to talk later." She frowned. "Or maybe because I wore the _Podracers do it better_ shirt."

Evinne closed her eyes. "Walk me through this again. You tried to touch his - his - you tried to touch him intimately?"

Ryn gave a single short, sharp nod.

"_Why_?"

Evinne didn't think she had ever seen a being look so dejected. "I thought he would ... enjoy it."

Evinne took a moment to reflect on the men she had known. "Okay. Did you have a particular reason for thinking he might feel that way?"

"I read in a book that it was the most sensitive part of the body for human males."

"Let me try the question another way. What was he doing when you decided to touch him?"

"Oh." Blood washed through Ryn's pale face. "He was ... kissing me. And ... kind of touching me, too. All over."

_Kind of touching?_ Evinne thought, but what she said, bluntly, was: "Down your pants?"

The color over Ryn's cheekbones deepened. "No. But I was only wearing underwear, so ..."

"Ah," Evinne said, finally beginning to see the light. "So ... Anakin was ... caressing you ... and then you decided to take things a step further."

Ryn nodded miserably. "I wanted him to know that it was okay if he wanted to ... um ..."

"You wanted to let him know that he was welcome to consummate the relationship," Evinne helped her out.

Ryn dropped her eyes. It would have been cute if she hadn't been so obviously unhappy. "More like I'd die if he didn't," she admitted reluctantly.

So Kit's sweet, fragile sister had discovered her concupiscence after all. Evinne filed that information away for later. "And he didn't react well."

Ryn puffed out a breath. "He _fled_. He said he had to take a shower and _bolted_." She pressed the heels of her hands to her temples, her voice thinning into an anguished whimper. "I was so desperate I actually frightened him out of the room! Gods and saints, what is _wrong_ with me?"

"Where to start," Evinne muttered. Ryn looked stricken, and Evinne remembered that she was supposed to be channeling her helpful side.

_Like I even _have_ a helpful side. Force help us._ She tried to rub away her headache, failed, and reminded herself that life is, after all, full of disappointments. "Look, Shorty ... it isn't remotely possible that Skywalker is, or ever was, frightened of you. That boy could take you with one hand tied behind his back." Considering this, she added, "Although if he's going to _take_ you, I think he should really use both."

"Not helpful," Ryn said, scowling. "And he _was_ frightened. I could feel it."

Evinne thought it was far more likely that he was afraid of disgracing himself in the sheets, but he would never forgive her for saying so.

_Yeah, and he'd be so thrilled with the conversation we're having now._

"There's a mix-up somewhere," Evinne said definitively. "Which you won't sort out if you don't start _talking_ to him."

"I've tried!" Ryn protested. "I tried to say I was sorry, but he just walked past me. He doesn't want to hear what I have to say. What else am I supposed to do?"

"If you can't talk, try listening," Evinne suggested. "Skywalker doesn't strike me as the type to suffer in silence for long."

"I _told_ you, he's -"

"Do you want to be right, or do you want your boyfriend back?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Ryn said, ignoring Evinne's eyeroll. "But I want him back."

* * *

Skywalker glanced up as she entered the cockpit. "We've set course for a world called Garis Orbai to refuel."

Evinne frowned, momentarily distracted. "Garis Orbai? I've never heard of it."

Makesh, sitting in the co-pilot's chair, punched up the description. "It doesn't look like much, but it claims to be a major step for refueling, and it's not far out of our way."

Evinne leaned closer to the display, squinting. "I'm not crazy about this route, you know."

Makesh shrugged. "You wanted to keep a low profile."

Evinne sighed. "Yeah. Okay. But ... wait a minute. Who controls this world?"

"It claims to be an independent planet," Anakin said, checking the read-out.

"This close to a Hutt hyperspace route? I wouldn't count on it."

Makesh sat back. "So what do you want to do?"

_Go to bed and sleep for a week,_ Evinne thought. But she said, "We'll go in. I don't see any better choices. But let's keep our eyes peeled. And you'd better go inform Master Kenobi." She gave him the honorific without thinking about it.

"I'll tell him," Anakin said, starting to rise.

"No, you stay there," Evinne ordered him, back on track. "We need to talk. Makesh -"

"On it," Makesh said, and flashed her one of his rare smiles as he headed for the hatch.

Skywalker didn't look happy as Evinne settled into the co-pilot's seat Makesh had vacated, but since he hadn't looked happy in days, that was no surprise.

"You're making her miserable, you know," she began conversationally.

Skywalker's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

"She misses you, Force knows why."

Still no answer. Evinne sighed and braced her feet on his chair supports. "Look, I'm trying to understand, here. Work with me a little."

He looked at her directly then, deep blue eyes so hot with resentment that Evinne almost leaned away. "Why?" he demanded, his voice sullen. "It's none of your business."

Evinne glared at him. "Because Ryn is miserable and so are you! And I don't have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, but I'm pretty sure that's _bad_."

Anakin gave her a quizzical look. "What sort of thing?"

Evinne waved her hand helplessly. _I am so not cut out for this._ "You know. Friendships. Personal things. Not private, just ... _personal_."

She could tell he had no idea what she was trying to say (she was starting to have some doubts herself), so she gave up explaining and said, "I knew you were the Chosen One because Ryn was afraid." That got his attention. "You all went to such great lengths to hide it, but I knew. I've known Shorty most of her life. I've fought with her and seen her lose engagements where not one fighter in three was left standing. I was in the team that extracted her after she played decoy and was tortured. We fought together at Dorain Ridge." She met Anakin's eyes. "But I never saw her _scared_ until she thought you were in danger."

Anakin looked away, but he was uncomfortable rather than disinterested. _Enough with the mushy stuff. We're neither of us any good at it._ Evinne cleared her throat. "Now, I know you may not feel comfortable with Ryn's sexually aggressive behavior, but you have to remember that Ryn and I are from a culture that perceives sex -" She stopped, because Anakin was staring at her with something she dismally recognized as horror. "What?"

"Ry - I - she - _what?_"

That was so incoherent Evinne didn't even try to respond; she folded her hands and waited for Anakin to splutter his way into a sentence.

What he finally came up with was a strangled interrogative: "_Sexually aggressive?_"

_And who would have thought it of Ryn?_ Not letting herself be distracted, Evinne nodded briskly. "Yes. Lorethan women as a rule are ... well, it doesn't matter. My point is that this can be fixed. I have certainly learned to moderate my behavior, and I am sure Ryn can do the same, if you'll just tell her what you want. You two might want to abstain for a while, just until you are both -"

Skywalker recovered himself enough to break in. "Ryn is _not_ ... aggressive."

He sounded offended. _Not to say apoplectic_. Evinne frowned. "What's the matter, then?"

"I - it's complicated." He shot her a glower. "And none of your business."

"True," Evinne agreed, unperturbed. "But I think it might be Ryn's business."

Anakin just looked at her. Patiently, Evinne explained, "Ryn is under the impression that you resent her for some sort of sexual encounter in which she moved too quickly." _When this is over, I am going to go home and rethink my life. I mean it._ "Um. She touched you?"

She felt the quick tide of Anakin's anger, rising to cover his embarrassment. She ignored both. "Ryn wasn't much more articulate than you've been, but ... I gather she thinks you see her as a sort of desperate female, who will do anything to get in your pants. That you are ... disgusted." Watching him obliquely, not above twisting the knife, she drawled the last word: "Repulsed."

Anakin actually flinched. Evinne leaned forward and followed up the advantage. "I don't know you very well, but I'd like to think you were smarter than that." She sat back and looked at him. "Anyway, your shift is over. Go on, get out of here."

* * *

Anakin left the cockpit in a daze, too overwhelmed and confused to think.

His traitorous feet led him straight to Ryn.

She was in the engine room, hanging practically upside-down from the access to one of the service shafts, stripping and splicing wires with great attention.

She didn't look up from her work, or acknowledge his presence, and that hurt more than if she'd slapped him across the face.

He couldn't think of anything to say, so he stood in the doorway and watched her work.

Watched the grace and strength in her calloused fingers. Watched the slender muscles shifting in her bare arms as she changed grips to swing her upper body back into the shaft to grab another wire. She'd stripped down to a close-fitting shirt with narrow straps across her shoulders that left not just her arms but her shoulder blades and the shallow upper curve of her breasts exposed, all clear white skin broken by shadowed valleys.

It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before - in training, not to mention the few times he'd glimpsed her undressed - but it felt different, watching her with this distance between.

Now he was paying attention.

He missed what she did that caused the short, but he saw her flinch, heard her sharp intake of breath, and moved without thinking, crossing the room in two quick steps to catch the flailing wires she'd dropped - above the stripping - and still their twitching.

Ryn eyed him cautiously, nursing a bloodied knuckle, but she gave him a curt little nod. "Thanks."

Her husky voice had dropped into a lower register, curiously guarded.

There was something desperately wrong in a galaxy where Ryn was wary of him, but Anakin ignored that for the moment.

"What were you trying to do?"

Ryn gave him a sharp look, but she must have judged his question to be sincere, because she answered, "Boost the strength of the commsat by drawing power from auxiliary navigation."

"From -" Anakin bit down on that thought. "Do you _want_ us to be flying blind?"

Ryn tucked her chin like a guilty little girl. "It's _auxiliary_. That means we're not using it now."

"Yes, and it's _navigation_," Anakin said, mimicking her tone. "There's a reason why that system has a back-up. You develop a glitch there, you won't likely live to regret it."

Ryn grabbed hold of the access edge with one hand and swung herself down to stand next to him, an ominous mixture of superficial burns and general grime spiderwebbing her bare skin from forehead to fingertips. Anakin thought some of it might be soot.

"What do you suggest instead?" she asked, her voice throaty from fumes, just skirting the edge of a challenge.

Anakin thought about it. "If we drop the temperature all over the ship by about ..." he did the calculations quickly "... say, three degrees all over the ship, we should be able to draw from life support without compromising essentials like oxygen."

Ryn folded her arms under her breasts - _I won't look won't look won't look_ - and Anakin noticed she wasn't wearing anything under her stretchy little excuse for a shirt. "Oh, so auxiliary navigation is an indispensable system but _life support_ isn't?"

Anakin refused to rise to the bait. "A lot of what's called life support is just keeping beings like us comfortable. And keeping a ship _warm_ in space takes a lot of energy." He'd learned that on the way from Tatooine to Coruscant.

_You come from a warm planet, Ani. A little too warm for my taste. Space is cold._

It was colder still without Padmé.

He dragged himself back to the conversation. "Lowering the temperature by even a few degrees can make a significant difference in power drain."

"Which means more to use elsewhere." Ryn considered this briefly, then gave her sharp, decisive nod. "Okay. I'll give it a try." She held out her uninjured hand for the wires he was still holding, clearly believing the conversation was over. "Thanks for the advice."

"You're going to need help," Anakin said, not releasing the wires.

"Oh." Ryn bit her lip, caught flat-footed for once. "Then -"

"Go clean that hand," Anakin said, nodding at the right hand she was still favoring. "I'll see if I can sort out the mynock's nest you've made in here."

Ryn's pale cheeks reddened in displeasure at _mynock's nest_, but Anakin saw the moment when she realized that he was - not very graciously - offering to help.

She didn't risk a smile, but he saw her eyes light.

She ducked her head and hurried off to do as she was told, her cautious hope brightening the Force.

_Stang. I'm an idiot sometimes._

Anakin shook his head and turned back to the wires to start doing what he did best - fixing things.

* * *

A/N: Hey, who spotted the TPM quote?


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: The Dark Reason is explained!

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

Three hours later, when Obi-Wan stuck his head into the engine room to tell them they were on approach to Garis Orbai, they were up to their elbows - more or less literally - in the overhaul, and they still hadn't managed to talk about anything except the task at hand, but they had settled into a functional rhythm, and the silence was no longer charged with angst.

_So ... progress._

"Evinne wants you to handle a mechanical resupply," Obi-Wan said, looking at Anakin. "We've blown fuses twice in the emergency lighting relay, and we're not even using that. Take a look at the system and pick up whatever parts you need."

Anakin nodded.

"Ryn, how are we for medical supplies?"

She grimaced. "Fine on everything except anti-nausea pills. I've been taking them pretty steadily, almost a quarter of our supply."

"All right, then get some more of those. And -"

Ryn raised her hand uncertainly.

"Yes?"

"I - well, I - I thought I might be a good choice to stay behind and guard the ship? Someone will need to do it, after all."

Obi-Wan cut her a sharp look. "And why do you want the job?"

Ryn quavered, almost backed down, half-glanced at Anakin, and finally said, "I desperately need a few hours of solitude."

"And why is that?"

For a few seconds Ryn floundered. "My psyche has been taking a beating lately," she managed at last. Anakin sensed her discomfort with the term _psyche_ again; they'd had a long discussion once about how to most concisely render the Lorethan word for _inner being_. "I need a chance to be alone, to reset my boundaries."

Obi-Wan frowned. "Does this have something to do with the way you and Anakin have been avoiding each other for the last three days?"

Ryn stiffened. "Why should that matter?"

"Learning to work together even if you have personal differences is an important life skill. It may prove _especially_ important on this mission."

"We're working together _now_," Ryn pointed out. "I just - I feel like I'm falling to pieces inside." She glanced at Anakin and then, jerkily, away. "I'm not going to lie to you and say that it doesn't hurt that we are no longer ... close. Some losses stay with you forever. But it's a lot more than that. In the last month, I've gone to the brink of death and been hauled back by means that shouldn't even be possible. I've been tortured nearly to death again. I've endured the psychic assault of going undercover in a brothel staffed with slaves. I've spent a day and a night on the run from bounty hunters. I have helped to support a corrupt government by participating in a battle which quickly turned into a slaughter - and, oh, by the way, I was injured in that fight. Again. After that I escaped some more bounty hunters and survived an attack on my bedroom - with my best friend, who for reasons I don't fully understand is no longer speaking to me. Oh, and let's not forget that the same people who've been trying to kill me may also be holding my brother and the only family I've got left captive." She made a sharp gesture with one hand, the other arm wrapped protectively around her ribcage. "So I think the real question here is: why the hell _wouldn't_ I need a few hours of peace and quiet?"

It was a long speech for Ryn, who had a not-unjustified reputation for being quiet and reserved. Obi-Wan stared at her for a long beat, taken aback.

"I'm sorry," he said at length. "The last few weeks have been hard on all of us, but ... I sometimes forget that you have borne the brunt of most of our adventures lately."

Ryn shifted her weight. "Not the battle on Borsana Terce," she offered, although she was the only one of the Jedi team who had actually gotten shot in the fighting. "And I think going undercover was harder on Anakin than me. But the near-death experiences ... yeah." She gave him a tired little smile. "And goodness knows when I'll have the chance for a little privacy again. I could use the chance to re-center myself, for the mission." She shivered. "I have a feeling we're all going to need to be on our game."

That sounded ominous, but it wasn't entirely unexpected. Anakin was pretty sure they'd all had a bad feeling about this mission since they arrived from the Borsana system to hear that Ryn's brother was missing and presumed dead.

Obi-Wan, meanwhile, was nodding. "I suppose I could add the medicine to my own errands." He looked at her. "I didn't know you got spacesick."

"Not this bad, usually," Ryn said. "I'm sure my disrupted emotional state is exacerbating the problem."

"Well, then let's hope the meditation helps."

"Thank you." Some of her old stiffness was back in her tone; Obi-Wan's eyes dimmed, but he nodded, respecting Ryn's need for boundaries right now.

_And it's my fault._

"I'll let you two finish."

He beat a measured retreat and they turned back to what was left of their work.

"Hold that steady," Anakin said, pointing, and Ryn wrapped her graceful, long-fingered hands around the metal cylinder he'd indicated.

His fingers brushed hers as he put the final twists to the wrench, and her pain and exhaustion leapt suddenly into focus as though his shields weren't even there.

She felt like a wounded animal, a wrenching grief reducing the nuances of her thoughts to a simple, dogged refusal to give up.

She clung to the pain as though it were a lifeline, precious. It was dark, and desperate, and Anakin understood it completely.

Releasing the pain meant letting go of everything that had been worth hurting for in the first place.

"Sorry," she muttered, not looking at him, and shifted her grip, breaking contact.

Anakin tried to speak, couldn't. There were no words.

He'd known Ryn was hurting - because of all the things she'd listed for Obi-

Wan, but also because of the new distance between them. That part hurt him, too.

But Ryn's sense of loss was a gaping emptiness inside her, a _wrongness_, as though something essential to her being were missing.

He gave the bolt a few more twists, distractedly, and then rose, pointing a finger at Ryn.

"Stay right there," he ordered her. "Don't move. Just ... stay there."

Ryn nodded quickly, her eyes alarmed; Anakin was out the door before he realized she must think something would go horribly wrong with the ship if she moved.

_Oops_.

His first impulse had been to go to Obi-Wan, but then Anakin remembered how Evinne has kept the younger Lorethan alive on the floor of a gunship, even as her bleeding organs tried to fail.

He changed course and headed for the cockpit.

"Evinne!"

Evinne looked up, clearly surprised to see him. "Skywalker? What -"

"It's Ryn," he said tersely. "Something's wrong."

Evinne was on her feet before the words were out of his mouth. "What's happened?"

Makesh twisted in his seat to look at them, voicing an interrogative whose only intelligible feature was its diminutive affix ...

_Shorty. That must be what her name sounds like in Lorethan. _

"I think - I think I've hurt her," Anakin said, too worried about Ryn to try and hide his guilt. It didn't make sense that he could have done that much damage without even _trying_, but he trusted what the Force had shown him.

Evinne huffed out a breath. "I already _told_ you, you self-centered, narcissistic -"

"I know," Anakin panted. He couldn't kriffing _breathe_. "I'm sorry. I thought you meant that I'd hurt her feelings, but ..." He glanced back over his shoulder, as though he could see Ryn through the turns of the corridor. "Can you please just come?"

Something in Evinne's hard white face yielded.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I'll come. Makesh -"

"I'll keep an eye on things," Makesh promised her.

"Lead the way, Skywalker."

* * *

Ryn glanced up as he entered. "What's wrong with it?" she asked him, her voice tight. "I can't tell any -" She broke off as she saw Evinne. "Oh. Hey."

"Hey," Evinne said neutrally.

"Can you fix it?" Ryn said, her eyes wary with innocent concern.

"I hope so," Evinne said gently. "Let me take a look."

Ryn nodded and ducked her head, dark hair falling forward to hide her eyes as she bent over the cylinder.

"Not that," Anakin said quickly. Guiltily. "You can let the drive cylinder go, Ryn. I just meant ... don't go away."

"Oh," Ryn said, confused. She stared at the cylinder for a long moment before lowering her hands and backing slowly away. She wouldn't quite look at him, staring up through an overkill of black lashes at a spot just to his right. "I don't ... what?" She sounded betrayed, but oddly not surprised.

It didn't make sense, until Anakin realized that she wasn't _becoming_, she was _reverting_. Her quiet defensiveness wasn't something entirely new; it was a learned response to pain, one she hadn't used in a while. The Force reverberated with memory; Anakin opened himself to it, cautiously, and was hit in the chest with a series of images that had to be of Ryn's childhood. They were gone as soon as he tried to focus on them, but he was left with the haunting familiarity of this gesture, the quick duck of her head, risking wary glances from the shadows of her wild dark lashes.

"Those are some interesting burns," Evinne said, nodding toward Ryn's marked left side as she edged closer.

Ryn glanced down at the striations as though seeing them for the first time; shrugged it off. "They're not so bad."

Evinne sank to one knee in the floor beside her, and Anakin crouched to one side.

"Anakin thinks he may have hurt you unintentionally," Evinne went on, getting to the point in the same gentle, soothing tones one might use with an injured, half-feral animal. "Will you let me touch your psyche?"

Ryn shot Anakin a venomous look that he interpreted as: _no shit, Skywalker._ But she acquiesced to Evinne's touch on her face, framing delicate jaw and cheekbones with her strong hands.

There was a moment's tense silence. Anakin could feel the Force stir, but not in any way he recognized. Then Evinne dropped her hands and stared into Ryn's shadowed, slightly unfocused green eyes.

"You little idiot," she said viciously. "What were you thinking, binding yourself to a Jedi?"

"What?" Ryn said, startled, her voice cracking over the word, backing away. "I don't ... what?"

Studying her, Evinne relented. "Okay. New question: how the hell did you manage to do this without _knowing_ it?"

"I don't understand," Ryn said slowly. Distinctly.

A lot of the explanation that followed was in Lorethan, as Evinne knelt and gestured and tried to make the younger girl understand. Apparently they exceeded the limits of Ryn's competence with whatever Force-theory they taught on Loreth. Anakin followed as well as he could, which wasn't very.

When Evinne finished - or gave up, Anakin wasn't sure - Ryn braced herself on her hands and scooted back to sit against the wall. "So if we're still bonded, why does it hurt so much?"

Evinne rubbed her forehead. "As near as I can guess, Sky - Anakin - has done something to his end of the bond. Closed it, probably. So you keep reaching, but there's no _there_ there. It's like a phantom pain in a lost limb.

Ryn winced; but she also nodded, accepting Evinne's analogy as apt.

"I still don't know how you did it," Evinne went on, "but the good news is, I think it can be fixed. If Anakin can just open his end -"

"No." Ryn's voice was quiet but sure. "How do we sever it? I mean, completely."

Evinne sat back on her heels, regrouping. "I have no idea. I don't even know how you did it in the first place."

"You don't have to know how something is made to break it," Ryn said, brutally practical.

Evinne hesitated. "Ryn, if we snap that bond, it's going to hurt. A lot. Both of you."

"Oh," Ryn said. "I see." She looked up at Anakin, finally caught his eyes with hers. "I think we have to try," she said quietly. "A clean break."

_A break? What?_ Anakin's heart clenched hard, then started again like it was trying to make up for lost time.

"What - why - you want a clean break?" he stammered finally.

"It's not like we could hide this level of attachment forever," Ryn pointed out. "The Council would find out eventually."

"But - but - look at what we've been through," Anakin protested. "We made it because we were together!"

"We made it because we trusted each other," Ryn countered. "But how can we ever trust each other unless we're free?"

"It just seems like a lousy time to change things," Anakin said.

Ryn gave him a wry little smile, and he knew she understood that he meant not just their difficult mission, but the way things were between them.

"You're wrong," she said softly. "Now is exactly the right time." She dropped her eyes for just a second, looked up at him again and he saw tears. "Please, Anakin. I really need this."

Anakin wasn't so sure - and he didn't like the sound of that last plea - but he found it hard to argue in the face of her bleeding pain. "That just leaves the question of how to do it," he said, trying to sound brave for both of them.

They looked at Evinne, who sighed.

"Okay. The bond seems to be an actual structure in the Force. Not metaphorical, like descriptions of the Force usually are. There are ... threads of energy, linking you. So if you each slam shut your end of the bond as hard as you can ... I might be able to snap those threads somewhere in the middle. But the psychic backlash is going to be brutal."

Anakin offered Ryn a shaky little smile. "I'm game if you are?"

"I'm game," Ryn said.

"Okay," Evinne said, looking grim and uncertain, which was not a confidence-inspiring combination. "Join hands,and then take a moment to find the place inside yourselves that is like an echo of the other person. Then concentrate on shutting that part out, shielding it away. I'll wait for you."

It took a while. Hurt like hell to push that piece of himself away. Anakin was dismally sure it was the _best_ part.

He thought he could hear Ryn crying, but he closed his mind to her misery. There was no place for it, here.

He wasn't sure there ever would be again.

He fought panic. What if their whole friendship had been a lie? If their wills had been subverted by some trick of the Force, and they'd never really known each other this whole time?

He told himself he should be relieved to be getting rid of her, if that were the case; but instead he felt a gibbering, wailing fear, tearing at the edges of his mind. He fought for control and managed not to reach for her.

Evinne stood silently, one hand resting on Anakin's shoulder and one on Ryn's. He felt the _snap_ and then the recoil that knocked him breathless when she finally broke their bond.

He felt himself losing his grip, falling endlessly ...

... and woke lying on his back on the floor of the engine room, his face wet with tears.

He flailed around until he got his hands under him and pushed to a sitting position, looking for Ryn.

He found her pale-faced and sniffling, like him picking herself up off the floor. She'd been weeping, too, and the air stank of vomit, so she had probably been sick at some point. The weak stomach was more her vice than his.

"How do you feel?" he asked her quietly. It seemed somehow appropriate to speak in hushed tones, as though they were at a funeral.

"Gutted," Ryn muttered back, her voice hoarse. "But I was expecting that. You?"

"The same," Anakin answered cautiously. "I can feel where you _aren't_, if that makes sense."

Ryn's laugh was bitter. "It makes perfect sense. I can't feel anything _else_."

Anakin didn't point out that this had been her idea.

She staggered to her feet and held out a hand to help him up. Anakin took the hand, even though he didn't need it: the feeling behind the gesture was too precious to refuse.

An odd look crossed Ryn's face as they stepped away from each other. "No, I _really_ can't feel anything else. I can't sense the Force."

Anakin looked at Evinne. "Is that normal?"

"How should I know?" Evinne demanded sourly. "Only a handful of people have ever bonded like that, as equals. So far as I know, no one has ever been crazy enough to try and sever such a connection."

Anakin glanced at Ryn. "Does it ... hurt, being disconnected from the Force?"

Ryn sat down slowly on the edge of the engine housing. "Gods, I don't know," she moaned, using the plural even though she'd called herself a monotheist when they talked about it on Borsana Terce. "_Everything_ hurts." She scrubbed her hands through her hair. "I can't ... I don't know." Muted sigh. "I must have been sensing the Force through you, these last few months. That would explain why I've gotten better at manipulating objects, I can't ... how could I not have _known_?"

Anakin didn't have the answer, but he didn't really think she expected him to. "I'm sorry," he said futilely.

Ryn glanced up, startled. "For what?"

"You can't feel the Force."

Ryn managed a wry expression that almost qualified as a smile. "I got along well enough before. And some of it may come back, with training. Once I've had a chance to heal."

Anakin didn't know what to say to that. It was a fairly obvious example of how Lorethans didn't understand or want the Jedi's intimate relationship with the Force.

"We should be on approach by now," Evinne observed as the deck tilted and the hyperdrive shut off. "If you two are okay, I'll go give Makesh a hand with the landing."


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: This chapter is dedicated to everyone who has been reading this story since the very beginning and the few of you who have gone back in time to do so. Your patience is finally to be rewarded (I hope!) with the culmination of a relationship payoff that has been building since the beginning of _Gravity_. It's not so much as a resolution as ... well, you'll see. This was one of my favorite chapters to write, and I hope you enjoy reading it. And because this is one of the critical moments for our characters, I would be especially happy to hear from anyone who has feedback to offer on this chappie. :)

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

Anakin had expected to _feel_ Ryn less. To find it harder to get a sense of what she was thinking, or her state of mind. But instead he found himself suddenly, strikingly aware of her - as though someone had pointed out a distant strain of music he had learned to ignore, and now he could not help but hear it. In becoming Other, she had become noticeable. He could feel her quick flush of heat as she glanced at him, and the flicker of embarrassment as she directed her eyes away. Her pain, tainted with humiliation, was no longer an ache buried deep in his mind: it was a shout just outside the window, a stranger meeting is eye.

He wondered, abruptly, whether the reason he had noticed her _everywhere_ these last few days had anything to do with the way he'd closed their bond.

He brushed her mind, lightly, and she started and jerked her eyes to his face.

"Careful," she said after a moment. "You don't want to renew the bond accidentally."

"You think that's possible?" Anakin said.

"I don't know," Ryn said. And then, thoughtfully, "I almost blacked out when you did that."

"Sorry," Anakin said quickly, but Ryn shook her head.

"I didn't meant that it was unpleasant." She bit her lip. "I think I surrendered to you, a long time ago." She let her head drop back against the wall and closed her eyes, sliding down to sit on the floor. "It felt so good."

Anakin didn't think he'd been meant to hear that part. "Surrendered?" he said. "Ryn, believe me, I never wanted -"

"I know," Ryn said, opening her eyes and rolling her head against the metal plating to look at him. There was a fondness, playing with the edges of her mouth, in spite of the little white marks of strain. "It was just easier. And maybe I liked it more than I should have." Her self-deprecating smile hit him unexpectedly under the ribs, a punch of charm he hadn't known she had. "I'm a little bent for you, you know."

He didn't want to think about how she was bent. Or, okay, he definitely _did_, at length and in great detail, but it wasn't anything he should be thinking about in the middle of the day in the engine room.

He tore his mind away from that tangent.

"Easier?"

Ryn bit her lip, watching him, came to some sort of decision. Beckoned him closer, and he folded himself onto the deckplates beside her, even though they should both have been strapping in for landing in some other part of the ship.

She held up her right hand, fingers spread, and Anakin matched it with his left, feeling the coolness of her skin agains his.

"Push," she urged him, and Anakin put some muscle into the way his palm flattened against hers.

She matched him and whispered, "_Harder_."

Bemused, Anakin humored her, pushing harder and harder until the muscles in Ryn's slender arm stood out with the effort of resisting and Anakin wondered whether he ought to push on through and break her hold or just stay where he was and wait to see what happened.

And then Ryn let her arm go slack without warning, and he pitched forward into her lap and came within a handsbreadth of face-planting in her cleavage.

Well, there were worse places to land.

"I stopped pushing," Ryn said with wry humor, helping him to sit upright again. "You were battering my shields to bruises without even trying. I was always going to lose in a head-to-head with you. So I stopped trying. I guess I figured if I was going to hell, I might as well enjoy the ride."

Anakin leaned back against the bulkhead and glanced at her sideways, taking in her self-consciously casual pose, arms draped loosely over her updrawn knees. "Am I hell or the ride in this analogy?" Anakin asked, frowning. "Because I think I might be offended."

Ryn didn't quite smile. "So I need to work on my verbal imagery. My point is: now I have to push again, and I can't win that struggle for long. You're overwhelming me again."

Anakin shifted away from her, guiltily. "So ... maybe we should just avoid each other whenever possible?"

Ryn's mouth twisted; she looked pointedly at the cramped space they were sitting in.

"Yeah, okay, it will be hard on the ship," Anakin admitted. "But I'll try to ... to think _small_. And when we get back to Coruscant ..."

Ryn went very still, her hands balling to fists in her lap. "If that's what you want."

The ship lurched, distracting Anakin from his desire to simply shake her until her senses fell into place. The lights flickered once, and Anakin spared a bitter thought for Evinne's piloting.

He held his breath until the ship steadied and then bit out, "I am _trying_ to ask what _you_ want."

Ryn tucked her chin a gesture that was quickly becoming contemptibly familiar. "It doesn't -"

"_Areth'ryn Orun_." The ship twisted again, and Anakin cursed and grabbed the nearest safety grip with one hand and Ryn with the other, dragging her beneath him and pinning her there with his weight so she couldn't go flying and smash herself against the engine housing. "If you try to tell me _it doesn't matter_, so help me, I will -" the ship bucked like a wild eopie as they dropped through the atmosphere, and Anakin flexed at the hip to keep her tight against the deckplates as she stretched against him to get a grip on the safety run above her head " - choke you with my bear hands."

The inertial controls reasserted themselves and slammed Anakin into Ryn hard enough to part her thighs and smack their pelvic bones together. They hissed through their teeth in unison, and then Ryn hooked one leg behind his knee to stop him from bounding away as the ship tilted in the opposite direction.

"It _matters_, okay?" He felt the next roll coming and twisted into Ryn, tightly enough to lock them together against the flooring. "I am asking because I care. _I want to know_."

Ryn's hips bucked against his, the motion of the ship or just a reflex, he couldn't tell. He pinned her again, with a sharp downward thrust, trying to ignore the shocking intimacy of their position.

Ryn stretched against him again, reaching both arms over her head, between his, to get a better grip.

"In that case," she gritted, back arching against the upheaval and his weight, "_no_, that is _not_ what I want."

Anakin forced her down again and let the fingers of his left hand lace and lock with her right over the safety rung. "Hold on _closer_."

Ryn's laughter was hoarse and breathless. "Any _closer_ and I'm going to lose my virginity!"

"_Damn it._" The ship righted again, pulling away from some kind of atmospheric turbulence, and Anakin eased his grip, thinking they were all right now.

He dragged in a breath and got back to the conversation. "What _do_ you want?"

He was wrong about their flight; the ship tilted without warning and he came down on her hard enough to bounce her head off the floor as the ship tilted again. She bucked once, reflexively, and gasped, "I haven't worked that part out yet." He could hear laughter beneath the tension in her voice.

She breathed in sharply as Anakin tried to compensate for the incompetence of the inertial controls and hammered into her again. Ryn arched against him, protesting or maybe just fighting the wrench of shifting gravity, keening softly under her breath. "Oh. Oh, _fuck_." The ship dropped, suddenly weightless. Anakin pressed down harder everywhere, reaching into the Force to solder them to the deckplates, and Ryn squeezed her eyes shut and screamed through clenched teeth.

"You okay?" Anakin yelled over the groaning of the ship, when a tilt of the ship relieved the pressure on his ribs and he could, briefly, breathe again.

"Yeah," Ryn rasped. She was shuddering beneath him; he could feel her clenching even through the crazy vibrations of the protesting deckplates. "I'm fine. But -"

The ship dropped again, and Anakin tightened his fingers on Ryn's even though he knew he was leaving bruises.

Another plummet, longer this time, spinning now as they clung grimly to their grip on the rung and each other.

He met her eyes. "I think we're in freefall."

Ryn grinned up at him, fierce and giddy and vital, everything that was right with his universe.

"Welcome to the story of us," she whispered, her smile turning wry beneath bright eyes, and he saw her lips move, so close he could feel her breath soft against his skin. "What did you expect?"

The ship tumbled like a leaf in the wind.

They closed their eyes and fell together.


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Warnings: some sexually suggestive content.

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

It seemed like a long time later that they finally stopped, the engines cutting back in as the turbulence vanished - or as they dropped out of it, more likely - just seconds before they hit the ground in a welter of screeching metal.

Anakin winced. _That didn't sound good_.

He uncurled a little, loosening his death grip on Ryn. At some point in that mad tumble, he'd freed one hand from the safety grip and wrapped his fingers around the back of Ryn's head so that every brutal jolt didn't pound her skull against the deckplates; it had been the best he could do. His knuckles were scraped raw and bleeding now, and he thought one of them might be cracked, but better his hand than Ryn's head.

He trailed his bruised fingers over her face, feeling those sharply beautiful bones, before meeting her eyes.

"You okay?" he asked hoarsely, searching bright green depths for any sign of concussion.

"I'm fine." She shifted beneath him. He could feel the warmth of her crotch against his, too intimate, and the hardness of ribs and pelvis. Her belly fluttered against his and then away again as she sucked in a shaky breath. "Some bruises, a wrenched shoulder. Nothing serious." His Padawan braid swung forward to smack her in the chin, and she smiled, just a little, and tucked it back behind his ear. "You?"

"The same. Bruises." It felt strange to sense her various bumps and scrapes as myriad little dots of pain in the Force and not as an echo in himself. "I hope everyone else -"

"They're fine." Ryn's eyes unfocused, then snapped back. "Evinne is a little rattled."

Anakin nodded and finally let go, rolling away from her to a sitting position, one knee upraised to hide his hard-on.

_Right. Because it was such a secret up to now._

Ryn tactfully ignored his discomfort, didn't give any sign that she'd noticed anything during those last few spins and tumbles. She sat up slowly and concentrated on working out the kinks in her lithe muscles.

She looked better, sweaty and scraped up and covered in various kinds of grime, than she had any right to. But there wasn't anywhere that conversation could go that wouldn't be several times too intense for their newly fragile understanding, so Anakin kept his mouth shut and just gave himself permission to be rendered speechless by the sight.

She made it to her feet and went over to hit the intercom, which was something he could have done with the Force if he hadn't been so busy using it to get the blood back to his brain.

"Evinne?"

Makesh's voice answered. "Aravel here."

Anakin raised his eyebrows; he'd noticed the blue-haired young man didn't tend to use his surname nearly as much as his fellow Lorethans did. Ryn, however, didn't bat an eyelash. "Everybody okay up there?"

"Yeah. You?"

"In the engine room, no serious injuries. Skywalker's with me."

"Kenobi's checked in, too. No harm done, to the passengers at least."

"Ship damages?"

"Not sure yet."

"We'll be there shortly."

"Great. Aravel out."

Ryn hit the off switch and glanced over her shoulder at Anakin. "You coming?"

He was going to be a little uncomfortable for a while, but ... "Yeah. Right behind you."

* * *

They met Obi-Wan first, headed down the gangway to see how they'd fared.

"What happened?" Anakin asked him, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

"Massive turbulence, clear-air and otherwise. I can't believe there was no warning buoy, no advisory, _nothing_. It's certainly a sign that the local infrastructure is suffering from the Trade Federation's departure."

"It happens all the time out here," Anakin said. "Corporations start a local economy, strip the planet's resources, and then leave the natives with nothing."

Ryn cocked an eyebrow at him. "I thought was more the story of the Mid Rim than the Outer Rim."

Anakin's mouth set in a line, which on most people would have been imposing but on him was vaguely sullen.

Ryn tore her eyes away from his pout and tried to concentrate on the problems at hand. "Do we have a damage estimate?"

"Not yet," Obi-Wan answered. "I was going to climb out and take a look at the hull."

"I can help," Ryn said. It was an easy guess she'd be more use inspecting the hull's plating than doing anything in the engine room. "What do the hull integrity readouts say?"

"About eighty percent," Obi-Wan said. "It's the other twenty percent that's worrying me."

_Yeah, no kidding._ He stroked a hand over his close-trimmed beard. "We may be able to effect some repairs."

_That would be good._ Ryn fought her sense of inertia, the drag at her limbs that seemed to be pleading with her to sit down and regroup. She was fairly sure that urge was just a byproduct of her weeping sense of loss, the emptiness inside where - apparently - Anakin used to be.

_It will heal. It has to._

In the meantime, she could at least try to make herself useful.

"I think the engine room made it all right," Anakin was saying. "But I'll go check the diagnostics."

"Good," Obi-Wan said; but instead of turning to go, he frowned at the younger man. "Padawan, are you sure you're all right? I sense ..."

"I'm fine," Anakin said quickly. "Ryn has a mild sprain in her right shoulder, but other than that we're both okay."

"I never told you it was the right shoulder," Ryn said, unaccountably nettled at being spoken for.

"I know these things," Anakin said mysteriously, and then spoiled it with a grin. "You're favoring that arm."

So she was, her elbow tucked gingerly against her side. _Oh_.

She made a face, but Anakin just tapped her other shoulder. "Don't look like that. I'm a highly-trained Jedi observer."

_And I'm easy to read,_ Ryn thought, but she gave him a rueful smile of acknowledgement, anyway.

_At least he's talking to me again. That has to count for something._

The last few days, with Anakin shutting her out in anger, had been a kind of awful Ryn had never experienced before. She'd lost people - far too many - to an assortment of violent deaths. But she'd never had to face the thought of losing a _living_ friend before. She could feel his anger, but she'd had no idea how to respond.

Now, inexplicably, it seemed she didn't have to. Somewhere in the excruciating process of disentangling their psyches - Ryn could _feel_ the difference now, and she was convinced they had needed more untangling and less _cutting_, but none of them had known that at the time - he forgiven her. Ryn still wasn't even sure exactly what she'd done - had he really decided to hold her to account for her ill-advised groping, or was there something else? - but maybe, if he wasn't angry any more, then it no longer mattered. That was what forgiveness meant, after all - not that you had somehow managed to make things right, but that whatever you'd done wrong was no longer held against you.

She followed Master Kenobi out through the top hatch, accepting a hand at the end so she didn't have to haul herself up with her aching shoulder, and looked around.

There wasn't much visible damage; looking over the edge, Ryn could see some dents near the bottom, presumably from the rough landing.

"Anakin wasn't very impressed with Evinne's piloting," she said aloud, remembering.

_Hold on tight_, he'd yelled in her ear.

_If we hold any tighter, I'm going to lose my virginity!_

He'd laughed, hoarse and shaky, and the only thing Ryn got from his string of spewed Huttese curses was that they were directed mostly at Evinne.

She could still feel his weight bearing down on her, pressing her to the deckplates. Keeping her safe.

Realizing that line of thought was going to lead somewhere she didn't want to go in front of Master Kenobi, Ryn pulled back and refocused.

"...well as anyone could have," Obi-Wan was saying. "We just didn't have much warning."

"Reckon why it didn't show up on the sensors?" Ryn mused.

"We don't know. Makesh is testing them now."

Ryn nodded and jerked her chin at the collection of dings. "Patch job, you think?"

"Yes, probably." Obi-Wan sighed. "I suppose we'd better climb down and take a look." He vaulted off the side of the ship, turning a neat single somersault in mid-air.

Ryn followed more sedately, climbing down the rungs set into the outer hull for the purpose.

Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have thought you the ladder type."

Ryn dusted her hands on the seat of her tough canvas pants and glanced over her shoulder at the decidedly conventional means of descent. "Yeah. Uh. I'm not feeling quite on my game."

Obi-Wan frowned at her. "Yes, I can sense that. At the risk of prying ... Are you sure this has nothing to do with Anakin?"

_Stang._ She didn't want to lie to Obi-Wan.

"The important thing," she said cautiously, trying to keep faith with both sides as much as possible, "is that now we can heal."

"Heal?" Obi-Wan said. "That sounds ... ominous."

"No," Ryn said, squinting up into the alien sunlight. "It's like re-breaking a bone that's healing crooked so you can set it straight." She turned to Obi-Wan and smiled. "It hurts like hell at the time, but in the end it's the best way."

Obi-Wan stroked his beard. "You know I've no idea what you're talking about, right?"

Ryn grinned at him. "Good. Stop fretting, Master Kenobi. We've got it covered."

"That might be more reassuring if I didn't know the two of you so well," Obi-Wan said; but he was smiling back.


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

Evinne's face appeared over the edge of the ship, silhouetted by harsh sunlight, as they were beating out the smaller dents.

"Skywalker says we need parts."

Obi-Wan stretched a kink out of his back. "He has a list?"

"Yeah. Stuff for hull and shielding, mostly. Some circuitry." Evinne frowned past Obi-Wan at Ryn. "Is he as good with machines as he says?"

Ryn nodded. "He teaches a workshop in Improvisational Engineering."

Obi-Wan stared. "He what?"

Ryn frowned at him uncertainly. "You know. For Padawans who end up in the Agri-Corps? There are skills courses they can take, to help them out in their new lives?"

Obi-Wan did know. He'd found himself in a couple of those courses before Qui-Gon took him on as a project. They were maddeningly irregular, because they were taught by volunteers, senior Jedi who donated a few hours of their precious spare time between missions, lending their expertise to the younger ... "Wait a minute. Those courses are taught by Jedi volunteers. How ..."

"Anakin started volunteering as an assistant a few years ago. And then one of the senior Jedi had to cancel one day, and she asked Anakin to take the class for her ..." Ryn shrugged. "It went so well they gave him his own course. He teaches two afternoons a week when he's on Coruscant. Whichever days he doesn't have take Advanced Lightsaber Techniques." A touch of pride entered her voice. "You should see him. He's really good, especially with the younger ones."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. _How did I not know this?_

Evinne was waiting, but he focused on Ryn's puzzled, guileless face. "I take it you _have_ seen him teach?"

"Well, yeah. I help him out, sometimes."

Obi-Wan considered opening his eyes again, thought better of it. "My Padawan has a TA?"

"Um."

"Out with it."

"I sort of teach Interaction of Nature and Technology," Ryn said, and then he did open his eyes, just in time to catch her wince. "GARD 102. It fulfills an environmental impact requirement for younger Padawans. Sometimes I do a lecture on sustainability for Anakin's workshop. MECH 357."

Obi-Wan blinked. "That's university transfer credit."

"Not in a practical skills course," Ryn said. "Anakin never teaches theory. Just application." She shot him a sidelong look. "Maybe you should be asking _him_ about this."

"Maybe." Except if Anakin had wanted to talk about it, he would have.

_Wouldn't he? _

_ What else have I been missing?_

"To answer your question," he said to Evinne, "yes, he is as good as he says."

"All right, then," Evinne said. "Well, if the sensors are right, we're about two miles from some sort of population center. Could be there's a spaceport. I'm going to try and slide us in on repulsors, so if you two will climb back in ..."

"On repulsors?" Obi-Wan repeated skeptically, following Ryn to the rungs she'd used earlier. She was still favoring that right shoulder, and a part of him wanted to be worried about her, but Ryn was tough. She'd hang in there until they could get sorted out. "That sounds ... difficult."

"Better than risking the upper atmosphere again," Evinne said. "We don't even know how deep the turbulence goes, or what's causing it. I'd rather limp in like a three-legged bantha than go out in a blaze of glory."

Obi-Wan couldn't fault her there. But he also couldn't resist glancing at Ryn as she scrambled up the last rungs and saying, "Is she as good a pilot as she says?"

Deadpan, Ryn said, "She's a record-setting fighter pilot."

"Stars' end." Obi-Wan paused to hold the hatch open for her. "I'm almost afraid to learn what dazzling talents you've been hiding."

Ryn grinned up at him, darkly careless. "I can kill a lot of people really fast."

Obi-Wan didn't quite manage to hide his shudder.

* * *

"No, I don't have a landing permit. I just told you, we _crashed_ here -"

"Then I'm afraid you are not entitled to a berth," the oily voice on the other end insisted. "If you want to turn your ship in for salvage -"

"_No_, kriff it, I do _not_ want to -"

"Then you must pay for a berth."

"I'm trying to!"

"Then I'll need the number from your landing permit."

Evinne snarled an obscene and anatomically implausible suggestion for what he could do with his landing permit and snapped off the comm.

"That went well," Anakin observed.

Evinne shot him a venomous look, evidently having plenty of wrath left to spare, and delivered a vicious punch to the side of her console, which groaned but held.

"_Stang it,_" she gritted, throwing herself back in the pilot's chair and exhaling through her teeth.

Obi-Wa eyed her cautiously. "Perhaps we could park on the outskirts," he suggested.

"Looks like we'll have to," Evinne agreed sourly. "But that's hardly going to be _inconspicuous_." She imbued the word with a lot of loathing. Expressive woman.

She seethed out a long breath. "Look, I think we'd better leave two on guard, just to be safe. Orun and Aravel, that's you. The rest of us ... we'll just have to keep our heads down and take care of business quickly. No dallying. Got it?"

"Got it," Anakin and Obi-Wan murmured in unison, though Obi-Wan could see from the look on the boy's face that he didn't like it.

"Good," Evinne said, apparently unmoved by the Padawan's lack of enthusiasm. "And lose the robes, guys. This isn't the kind of place where you want to advertise as a Jedi." She flowed to her feet, a picture of female grace Obi-Wan had rarely seen matched, and tweaked Anakin's Padawan braid. "Do something about the hair, too," she ordered him. "Smart crooks will know the signs."

Anakin glared at her. "What do you suggest, _Master_?"

Evinne shrugged. "Cut it, pin it, let it down. I don't care. Just disguise it. And get that chip off your shoulder, before it gets us killed."

"I think I can take care of the braid," Ryn said, stepping forward. "If I may?"

Not for the first time, Ryn's cooler head prevailed, dampening Anakin's temper. Obi-Wan admired her technique, but he knew he'd never be able to match it. Ryn's soft pleading worked so well precisely because she had no real authority over him: she just _asked_.

When he'd first noticed that Ryn could get his Padawan to do ... well, almost anything ... Obi-Wan had been inclined to consider her tactics manipulative. She was young and beautiful, and it wasn't hard to imagine that a girl used to power would trade on Anakin's innocence and her own burgeoning sex appeal to get what she wanted. But it wasn't long before Obi-Wan realized he'd sold them both short. Instead of practicing subterfuge, Ryn was direct and honest enough to simply _ask_ for what she wanted. And so far from being led by his hormones, Anakin said yes, most of the time, simply because, all other things being equal, he chose to make people happy.

So Obi-Wan barely had time to tense before he understood that there wasn't going to be a problem. Anakin pushed off the bulkhead where he'd been leaning and let Ryn push him gently down into the vacant pilot seat Evinne had vacated.

She stepped closer, straddling his knees, and worked the beads loose from the end of his braid with steady, careful fingers.

She worked methodically, her face set in a mask of concentration. Nimble fingers unwound Anakin's golden braid, brisk and efficient, while Anakin waited, quiescent under her touch.

His hair was longer, released from its tight bonds: falling past his shoulder in crinkles that remembered the shape of duty.

Ryn combed the freed tumble with her fingers until the kinks began to loosen, and then snapped a narrow black band off her wrist, catching the strands and wrapping them tightly, just behind his ear where the braid used to begin.

As a finishing touch, she pulled the short Padawan's tail at the back of his head loose and dug her fingers in until the last traces of restraint fell away.

She pulled back to study her handiwork - and then, finally, showed the glimmer of feeling: the ghost of a smile, softening the edges of her mouth. She brushed back an errant strand and looked down into Anakin's tense, expectant face.

"Thicker than I thought," she said softly, huskily - and turned away.

It was a curiously intimate moment, and Obi-Wan was reluctant to intrude on it. He let Ryn slip out the nearest hatch unchallenged and studied the sensor readouts in silence, giving Anakin a moment to collect himself. To control his feelings, whatever they might be.

Evinne finally broke the silence. "Can't say it's your best look, Skywalker, but no one will make you for a Jedi."

Obi-Wan guessed that was meant to pass for approval.

"Yeah," Anakin said, getting to his feet with a reluctant smile. "Well, don't get used to it."

"Don't _you_ let Shorty get too used to doing your hair," Evinne countered. "She might like it."

Obi-Wan suppressed a wince, glad Ryn wasn't in the cockpit to hear. Evinne's sense of humor was noticeably lacking in tact.

"I doubt it will come up often," he said quietly. Repressively. "If we are all ready to go?"


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Look, Ani/Obi mush!

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

Ryn had herself in hand again when she saw them off at the head of the loading ramp.

"Be careful," she reminded them anxiously. "Call for back-up if you need it. Don't forget this is a smuggler's port now. And we're hardly a stone's throw from some of the Hutt routes. Remember -"

"We'll be careful," Obi-Wan interrupted her, not ungently. He had a feeling her sharp worry, riding so close to the surface now, was about far more than their simple supply-gathering jaunt. "May the Force be with you."

"And with you," she answered demurely, bowing in what he'd come to recognize as the Lorethan way, hands pressed together before her chest.

She didn't have the sentimental bent to stand still and watch them leave; she pulled up the ramp and sealed it after them without delay. But Obi-Wan was sure there was more going on behind her still face and demurely lowered eyelashes than met the eye.

He glanced sideways at Anakin. Chances were good that his Padawan knew all about whatever was bothering Ryn. But it seemed wrong, somehow, to pry. Anakin and Ryn were both intensely private in ways that no Jedi raised in the Temple could ever really appreciate, and he was reluctant to blunder in where he did not understand the terrain.

Experience had taught him that.

He tried another angle instead. "So, Professor."

Anakin jumped - minutely, but Obi-Wan had been watching for his reaction and caught it. The Padawan looked around - as though scanning for other possible candidates, but there were only the three of them. "What?" he asked uncertainly.

Obi-Wan, used, to Anakin's reflex toward defensiveness by now, offered a reassuring smile. _Relax, Padawan. You're not in trouble._ "I hear you've been teaching a MECH class."

"Oh." Anakin didn't relax just yet. "I'm just a volunteer."

All the Jedi teaching those courses were volunteers, but Obi-Wan was fairly certain that wasn't the point. "There's a rumor you're good at it."

Anakin blushed deeply and looked away. "Ryn told you."

Well, that was an easy deduction under the circumstances - who else was around out here to have said anything?

"Evinne asked whether you were as good with machines as you'd said and Ryn pointed out that you were good enough to be teaching others. I'm sure she didn't think of it as a secret." He tipped his head to catch a better look at hi Padawan's face. "Was it?"

"I - no, Master, of course not."

_Right._ "So why did you never tell me?"

Anakin shrugged. "You never asked."

That was true. Obi-Wan was too careful not to trespass on Anakin's few unsupervised hours by demanding an account of them. He'd valued his precious hours of freedom so much at that age, guarded them close.

And there, Obi-Wan realized, was the heart of the problem. What Obi-Wan meant as respect for his Padawan's autonomy was taken as a lack of interest in his life.

Obi-Wan sighed and ran a hand down his face. _Anakin's so different from what I was at that age. He _needs_ so much, and Force knows it's never what I think._

He said, "I suppose I never knew to ask. I wanted to give you what privacy I could. A Jedi has so little of it." Would Shmi have asked Anakin what he was doing in the afternoons? It was a question he'd never be able to ask; just the asking would undermine all his attempts to separate Anakin from his mother. _He was too old. I know he was. It shouldn't be this hard._

Anakin ducked his head in appreciation of Obi-Wan's good intentions, which said worlds about the boy's own good nature. "Thank you, Master."

"But you could have told me anyway," Obi-Wan added, casting him another sidelong look, feeling his way through the dark. "You didn't have to wait to be asked."

"I know." Anakin studied the first outlying houses as they approached. "I don't know why I never said anything, Master." He hitched his shoulders uncomfortably. "But ... I mean, it's not like it's a secret. I wasn't trying to hide anything, Master."

"I should hope not," Obi-Wan said. "You should be proud, Anakin. You're doing a good thing."

Anakin was always so startled by praise. He never knew what to do with it.

_And whose fault is that? Mine, or Watto's? Both?_

Anakin looked down, blushing furiously. "Thank you, Master." It was the same thing he'd said before, but this time he really meant it.

Obi-Wan glanced at Evinne, swinging along several paces ahead, but nothing suggested that she was listening to their conversation. "You should have seen the look on Ryn's face when she talked about it. She's clearly proud of you as well."

Anakin snorted at that. "Ryn is like Mom: proud of whatever I do, whether I deserve it or not."

_Well._ He'd wanted to know Anakin better. "Ryn reminds you of your mother?" Anakin was either appallingly innocent or far more bent than Obi-Wan had ever guessed, if he didn't know how that sounded the way Ryn _looked_ at him, the way her longing remembered with desire in the Force ...

Anakin laughed. "No! Well, not usually. I just meant ... Ryn if family. She's excited about whatever I'm doing, just because I'm doing it."

He ought to say something about attachment here. Before this went anyway further. As gently as he could, he said, "There is a reason why Jedi are not allowed to have families, Anakin."

Something slammed shut in Anakin's face, and Obi-Wan knew he'd just lost whatever around he'd gained. "Except for Ki-Adi-Mundi, you mean."

_Here we go again._ "Anakin, you know he is a special case."

"And the Chosen One is _not_?" Anakin demanded, sullen resentment burning beneath his voice.

_Oh, Anakin ..._ "You should not _want_ to be a special case." _Because no good can come of it._

Anakin met his gaze straight-on, challenging him. "What's that got to do with it? When has anyone ever cared what I wanted?"

Obi-Wan broke stride, caught himself. Said quietly, "Qui-Gon cared."

Something wrenched behind Anakin's face. "He cared. But not as much as he cared about the prophecy."

His words dug in under Obi-Wan's breastbone. "Anakin -"

"What? You think he told me I'd never be allowed to visit my mom? You think I'd have left with him if he had?"

Qui-gon who'd made a pilgrimage to Loreth without him and consorted with the likes of Djinn Altis.

"Would you?" Obi-Wan asked him, and Anakin wrenched inside again.

"_I don't know_."

The weight of that admission seemed to flat them; Obi-Wan felt suffocated by it.

"The Jedi are your family now."

Anakin stared straight ahead.


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Oh, and in case we forgot what the Outer Rim was like ...

**CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE**

Ryn had told Obi-Wan she needed time and privacy to meditate, but what she'd really wanted was solitude: the simple relief of not having to guard her feelings. She'd rather have had the ship to herself, but Makesh's company was probably the next best thing. She wasn't trying to hide anything from him, and he wouldn't hold any of what she felt against her.

For a few hours at least, she could just be herself.

Whoever that was, these days.

She did perform an actual meditation, just so she could honestly say she had if Obi-Wan asked, and then she went through a ritual prayer in the cramped space of the sleeping compartment.

She did not find her center, because it had been ripped out.

And then, because she had nothing better to do and she couldn't sleep, the raw wound of her separation from Anakin still burning her like a branding iron on torn flesh, she trailed back up to the cockpit and skimmed aimlessly through the local comm channels.

Several of them were a sort of broadcast, local chat and traffic interspersed with relayed programming from the Mid Rim. A few had music of unidentifiable provenance - maybe local, maybe not. Ryn couldn't understand much of the lyrics, but she thought most of them were in Basic. A few of the chat programs were definitely in Huttese.

She was playing a game with herself, trying to construct a narrative out of the scattered Huttese words she could identify on one of the lower frequencies - the charts said the signal was being bounced in from Nar Shaddaa, several parsecs away, but that didn't tell her much, and mostly she was just making up a story to amuse herself, out of disconnected words - when Makehs took his feet off the console, sat up straight, and said, "Turn it up."

Ryn blinked, both at his urgency and at his tone - it wasn't like Makesh Aravel to snap at a woman, and one who outranked him, at that - but she did as he asked. There was a lot of static, so Ryn spent a couple of minutes trying to take the noise out, and when she finally had the signal cleared up, Makesh said, "No, it must be just off this frequency. Try dialing down, slowly."

What's_ just off this frequency?_ Ryn wondered, but she reset all her pick-ups to broad gain and and started easing down the scale.

"Stop!" Makesh said, and Ryn took her hand off dial.

"No, back a little. _There_."

Ryn listened and tapped the filters again. "Here?"

The signal was slightly louder and mostly static, but she thought she could hear voices, speaking Huttese.

"I think - yes," Makesh said. "Can you boost it?"

Ryn fiddled with the controls again. An electronic scream filled the cockpit, setting their teeth on edge. She cursed under her breath, cringing under the audio assault, and eased the balance back down. Adjusted and tried again, then tapped the volume controls.

"If I widen the range any more we're going to get bleedover from other frequencies," she told Makesh. "It's picking up some marginal stuff now. I can't even identify all these signals." She frowned at the readout. "But one of them is piggybacked in some sort of code. Smugglers, maybe."

Makesh nodded, shushing her with a _keep still_ gesture, and Ryn bit down on the first response that came to mind and leaned back, waiting.

Makesh leaned forward toward the control panel - as though it made any difference, with the speakers scattered around the cockpit - his face intent. Ryn could _feel_ his absolute focus, even over the bleeding pain inside that muted everything else.

She tried to touch his mind and get a sense of what he was doing, but it was like trying to put weight on a broken leg; she sucked in a sharp breath, dizzy from the pain. _How long before I start to heal?_ She wondered, distractedly, whether it were this bad for Anakin, or if his stronger connection to the Force and lack of native empathy gave him some protection.

Makesh's voice snapped her back into the present.

"This is a com-to-com frequency," he said. "And I think they're talking about Evinne."

The way he said it wasn't encouraging, but Ryn couldn't resist asking the stupid question. She'd had a hard day. "That's bad?"

"Apparently," Makesh said. He listened some more, shook his head. "Whoever it is, they're definitely interested in the ship. I mean, unless there are several more Corellian light freighters just hanging around outside of town."

There was a moment's silence while they both absorbed the implications of that. "Shit," Ryn said finally, for both of them.

Makesh nodded. "I make three voices."

"Huttese?"

"Yeah."

_So Anakin can translate this mess, if we can just get him back to the ship. _

First things first. Ryn reached over and switched the com to _transmit_, keying up Evinne's frequency.

"Evinne? Come in."

No answer. Ryn exchanged looks with Makesh. Keyed over to Master Kenobi's comlink. "Master Kenobi?" She waited. "Obi-Wan?"

Makesh cursed and started flipping switches. Checked the display and cursed again.

"What?" Ryn said. "What's wrong?" _Or should I say: what _else_?_

"They're jamming us," Makesh snapped.

"_Jamming_ us?" Ryn jumped to her feet, pointlessly, and ran a shaky hand through her hair, overwhelmed by the unfairness of it all. "We just spent three hours overhauling that whole system to increase signal strength. We should be able to punch through damn near anything."

"Not this, apparently," Makesh said, still furiously working the controls. "But if I had to guess, I'd say your boost was geared for hyperwave transmissions. May not do much for local com."

Ryn collapsed into her seat again, uselessly. "Obviously not," she muttered. "But how did they get us so _fast_?"

"If I had to guess again?" Makesh said. "They didn't. Someone was monitoring the com channels when we first came out of hyperspace and requested permission to land. That's been a couple of hours now. Plenty of time to deploy a trap."

Ryn hissed through her teeth. "But why?"

Makesh chewed his lip thoughtfully. "It's just a theory. But I've heard about smuggler's worlds, where unsuspecting travelers are trapped by gangs strong enough to thwart whatever the local authority might be. It's a cheap way for them to get ships and supplies. Or forced labor." Ryn shuddered. "Can't you raise Skywalker? Get word to them that way?"

Ryn took a deep breath. "I can try." Makesh looked skeptical, so she added, "Things have changed."

She closed her eyes. Tried again to center herself, only to find - not entirely to her surprise - that she was hopelessly scattered, as if the center of her inner orbit had suddenly vanished.

_Vacuum._

She gave up on centering and just flailed, stretching her sense in all directions to grope for the burning whirlwind that was Anakin.

She couldn't find him through the pain. No matter how she strained, she couldn't feel anything except this bruising, incapacitating grief.

She opened her eyes, gasping, to find that she had fallen out of her seat onto the floor of the cockpit, and that Makesh had broken off scrambling with the controls and was kneeling over her in concern.

"Orun? You okay?"

_Not even close._ Ryn shook her head, letting Makesh haul her to her feet, so distracted that his hand on her arm didn't even register on her battered senses until she was standing unsteadily, swaying against his grip.

She shook her head to clear it and almost threw up. "I couldn't reach him," she rasped. "I can feel him out there, somewhere ... but not enough to get a grip on. Not enough to send a message."

Makesh gave her a considering look. "This has something to do with your spat?"

"No. Yes. Not really. A little." Ryn winced and lowered herself gingerly into the pilot's seat. "We were bonded ... accidentally ... and Evinne helped us sever that bond, just a little while ago, before the crash. It ... hurts. I can't feel anything else through the pain. It's like trying to hear a whisper over the banging of drums, or a war-cry." She took a ragged breath, spoke on the exhale. "You know it's there, but you can't make anything out of it."

Not one to waste time in complaint, Makesh merely nodded. "Sounds unpleasant."

Ryn closed her eyes briefly, paralyzed with gratitude to him for not riding her about the selfishness and irresponsibility of undertaking such a drastic change in the middle of a dangerous mission.

"It is," she said finally, opening her eyes. "More to the point, it is _unhelpful_."

"Yeah," Makesh said, but he wasn't really listening to her. Instead he was tapping his fingers against the console, thinking fast. "Okay. If they are serious enough to jam us, chances are good they'll have someone tailing the others. That could be a smart move, or it might be some poor fool's last mistake. Anyway. We can basically do either of two things. We can go out and hit the streets and try to find our guys that way. Or we can scout around a little and see if we can't take out whoever has the ship under surveillance."

"Whoever -" Ryn cut herself off. _Of course there's someone watching the ship, idiot._ "Yeah, okay, let's try the second one. We could chase each other around the city all day without getting anywhere."

Makeshs's face was unreadable. "It means leaving our friends on their own in town."

"I know." Ryn swallowed hard. _I'm kriffing thirteen. Why do I have to be the one with the answers?_ "I still think it's our best shot."

Makesh nodded - not quite reluctant, maybe reserved. "I guess we start with a sensor check?"

"If they're not jamming those, too," Ryn agreed.

She was worried about the whole team, but ... _Anakin, please be all right._


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Really short, really rough chapter. I'm still not sure I like how their conversation unfolds, but I don't know how to make it any better without making my brain explode, so ... here goes. :(

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

Anakin chose the junk shop and Obi-Wan followed without question. Whatever his master's doubts about Anakin's readiness for Jedihood, there were some areas in which he trusted the younger man unconditionally.

They got the parts they needed without too much trouble, and Obi-Wan bargained - with surprising aptitude - for their delivery to the ship, since they were too heavy to carry comfortably and floating them would certainly raise eyebrows in town.

"I think Evinne would be pleased with our ability to blend in with the local populace," Obi-Wan remarked as they left.

Evinne certainly did seem to be drawn to the shadier side of things.

"You're doing fine, Master."

"Although calling me _Master_ might undermine our cleverly constructed disguise."

Anakin looked down the street, avoiding Obi-Wan's eyes. "Jedi isn't the first thing they'll think out here."

"What - oh." He could feel Obi-Wan, set back on his heels, struggling to come to grips with a past he couldn't quite imagine. "I'm sorry, Anakin. Perhaps we should -"

"It's the perfect cover."

Obi-Wan almost insisted anyway, but Anakin was right and they both knew it. The mission demanded all the help it could get, and there was no point in passing over a perfectly good disguise. So in the end Obi-Wan just nodded, stepped forward, and then froze, one foot still on the sidewalk.

"Did you feel that?"

Anakin couldn't feel much of anything except his own aching loss; he kept trying to let the Force heal him, opening himself to it again and again - but unlike a physical injury, he had nowhere to direct it: there no _there_ there, only a pervasive sense of something missing.

Evinne, he guessed, could probably have found it. His inner pain would have been _real_ to her, in senses the Jedi had never learned to imagine. But Anakin, trained in the Jedi way, had only a very hazy idea of how that might work, and no ability at all to make it happen.

He tried not to sigh. He had been ready to try and repair their bond, rather than severing it - at the end of the day, Ryn was the only thing in his life he was pretty sure he wanted more of. But Ryn had been so sure that this was what she wanted, or needed: so certain that this was _right_.

_A clean break._

He was trying, really hard, not to read too much into that, but so far ...

_I miss her._

"Anakin?"

_Oh, right._ "Sorry, Master. I didn't feel anything." _Just what I'm _not_ feeling._

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Maybe it was nothing." He frowned at Anakin. "But I can certainly feel _you_. Are you ever going to tell me what's wrong?"

Anakin hesitated. Obi-Wan was sincere in his desire to help, but ... "It's something I need to work through for myself, Master." There was no point in pretending to Obi-Wan that everything was fine. There was probably no shield Anakin could build that would hide this much distress, just as there was no bandage ever made that would disguise a missing limb.

Obi-wan's worried expression didn't fade away. "Anakin, if there is ... something you are concerned about, I promise I can listen, without judging. We all make mistakes."

Anakin took a step away from him. "Sounds like you're _already_ judging."

"Anakin, please. I didn't mean it like that."

Fury heated under his breastbone, but it was better than the cold ache. Anakin clenched his jaw tighter and looked away. "You're assuming the worst of me, Master. Just like always."

"Anakin, no one _always_ does anything. And I only -"

"Really?" Anakin heard the bitterness in his own voice, the _anger_, but he couldn't stop himself, couldn't moderate his voice into a semblance of Jedi calm. "Less than a week ago you were giving me a lecture about consensuality! As if I would ever hurt Ryn! She's my friend, and I care about her!" He saw the trap, but it was too late - he should have been scalding over the way Obi-Wan misunderstood him, and instead he was fuming about his relationship with Ryn.

Obi-Wan saw it, too. "If she's your friend, then why aren't you speaking to her these days?"

"I don't know!" Anakin blurted, surprising himself. "It's all so stupid. I tried to talk to her after we go on board the ship, but Ryn was ... she felt so _humiliated_, and I never got the chance to explain that it was _all my fault_." He stopped himself. "No. That's not true. I _could_ have stayed and tried to explain, but I was ... hurt that she didn't want to talk. Angry that she didn't trust me. So I ... walked away." Pretty much what he'd done that dawn in Ryn's bedroom, come to think of it.

"Anakin ..." Beside him, Obi-Wan shifted and rubbed his eyes. "I don't pretend to understand all you're telling me. I have only a very hazy idea of what has been going on between you and Ryn. I've tried to respect your privacy and let you work this out for yourself. But from what I'm hearing ... Anakin, this is exactly why the Jedi eschew attachments. This kind of emotional turmoil is only a distraction from our duty. I'm sorry you are hurting. But perhaps it is time to simply let this relationship go."

Standing on the street corner, Anakin closed his eyes and fought the wrench of denial down so Obi-Wan wouldn't hear it in his voice, even if he couldn't hide it in the Force. "If you're suggesting I don't see her any more, that might prove a little complicated, given the size of the ship."

"Of course I'm not suggesting that," Obi-Wan said. "I am saying that perhaps you should look at this as an opportunity to learn how to have _friendship_ without _attachment_."

Anakin scowled. _Like I need to hear this lecture one more time._ "It doesn't matter anyway," he muttered, knowing he sounded sulky and unable to do any better. "Things are different now."

Obi-Wan sighed. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why.

Something inside him resisted the idea of exposing Ryn's pain and the bond she'd accidentally forged with him. " We did the Jedi thing and severed an attachment," he said finally.

"That was ... cryptic," Obi-Wan said, slowly. "But all right. Just know that if you need someone to talk to ..."

Obi-Wan was about the last person he'd ever want to talk to about this. "Yeah," Anakin said. "Got it. Thanks."

"Right," Obi-Wan said, plainly unconvinced. "Well, let's go get the medical supplies."

They were leaving the pharmacy when they heard the first shots.


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO**

Evinne had a split second's warning, someone's triumph released a beat too soon, before the first blaster shot blazed past her ear.

She was already dropping and rolling; she came up under the third shot and returned fire, heard a sharp yelp of pain. Threw herself backward and ducked between buildings.

_Stang, that was close._

She had a burning curiosity about who was shooting at her, but unless she got her game on in a hurry, she wasn't going to live long enough to enjoy the answer.

She took a couple of deep breaths and jumped, leap-stepping up the side of the building. _Ow._

She flattened herself on the rooftop and squirmed over to the edge.

A Dug and two Rodians in the street; that didn't tell her much. Evinne didn't recognize them, but then she had never been able to tell Rodians apart, and from a distance all Dugs looked alike. She supposed there must be tells for each species that she didn't know quite hot to look for. All three were kitted out as bounty hunters, but other than a general air of hard times, she couldn't get much from that. she thought some of their gear might be secondhand.

A Weequay appeared out of the shadows of a doorway, running forward to check the narrow space between buildings where she had disappeared. _A Weequay. Well, this certainly is a multicultural little operation._

Evinne flopped over on her back - away from the edge - and dragged her comlink out of her pocket with as little movement as possible. Was not surprised when she got only static.

_It was worth a try._

Now the question became one of what exactly these bounty hunters wanted. If they were after the whole group, then Evinne needed to lose the tails long enough to make contact with Skywalker and Kenobi and warn them. If the bounty was only on _her_ ... then there was no point in ruining anyone else's day.

There was, unfortunately, a longish list of beings who might want her dead.

Evinne considered this fact as she flipped back onto her belly and began to work her way across the roof. The smart ting, probably, would be to leave Skywalker and Kenobi to fend for themselves and sneak back to the ship by an indirect route. That had the disadvantage of leaving those two on their - but they were Jedi, after all, surely they could handle themselves in a spaceport town for an hour or two - and of leading the bounty hunters right back to the ship if she wasn't quite sneaky enough.

_So that's why you have to do it right._

She pushed her pack across the roof ahead of her, inching along, and squinted up at the sun.

_Given local rotations, that's maybe three standard hours to burn. _

_ Damn it._

* * *

"I'm guessing that might be what you were sensing earlier," Anakin said breathlessly, looking in the direction of the shots as though he could actually see anything through the tangled city sprawl.

"It's a good bet," Obi-Wan agreed, with muted sarcasm. "And I wouldn't lay any odds against our friend Evinne being involved, either." Pause. "She's an active sort of woman."

Anakin wasn't sure he liked having his thoughts confirmed aloud. "Yeah. Okay. What do you want to do about it?"

Obi-Wan lifted one eyebrow. "You realize of course that if Evinne is in trouble, it is very likely because she has been engaging in some rather _violently_ illegal activities."

"So we should just let her get what's coming to her? Come on, Master. She's Ryn's friend." Anakin frowned. "Well, sort of."

Obi-Wan snorted. "A ringing endorsement. But I only meant that we should get all the facts before we rush in."

Anakin checked a grin. "And then rush in?"

"Something like that."

It was no great surprise, all things considered, to learn that their comlinks weren't working. But it was hardly convenient, either, so Obi-Wan looked Anakin in the eye.

"Do you think you can reach Ryn?"

Anakin looked away, blinking unhappily, but he said, "I'll try."

"There is no try," Obi-Wan reminded him automatically.

_Sure there is. I try all the time._

He struggled for a long minute. Called to mind his memory of Ryn's Force presence, clear and shining. Found something that might or might not have been her, in the moment.

He reached out, tentatively, but he couldn't feel anyone reaching back. After a long minute he gave up and opened his eyes. Answered Obi-Wan's unspoken question with a shake of his head.

"Well, then," Obi-Wan said. "I suppose we had better concentrate on finding Evinne."


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR**

By the time she had made her way to the city's outskirts, Evinne was beginning to get a Bad Feeling about this.

Checking her hold-out blaster one more time, she considered the evidence.

It was pretty thin. There were at least three Dugs in the group, tracking her, but there were a lot of Dugs working the Rim, and a better than average number of them were engaged in violent and not-entirely-legal operations. In general, Evinne didn't hold it against them. The Rim was a hard place to earn a living.

She was pretty sure, though, that she recognized the third Dug. She had a distinct feeling that she'd seen him somewhere before, and she thought it might have been in Sebulba's retinue on Malastare.

That, by itself, was pretty damning. If Sebulba was a greedy, brutal, bad-tempered cheat - and not even his most loyal fans contested this - the crowd he ran with was worse. Loan sharks. Drug-pushers. Hutt enforcers. The kind of characters who would make Hondo shake his head sadly and decry the lack of honor amongst thieves nowadays.

_Hondo, my friend, I know just exactly how you feel._

* * *

Blaster shots drove them behind the nearest building for cover.

They pulled their lightsabers in unison and exchanged a quick look.

"I guess now we're targets?" Anakin gasped.

"That was certainly my conclusion," Obi-Wan concurred drily. "Can you sense Evinne?"

Anakin concentrated, shook his head. "Sorry, Master."

"You're in a lot of pain." Anakin suspected he was going to be hearing more about that later. "Just let me know if you sense anything." He raised his lightsaber to an Ataro guard. "On three?"

* * *

It was a relief to finally be _doing_ something she did well.

Ryn gave over thinking and surrendered herself to the fight. Let go of thought and acted on instinct. No doubts. Not even any real decisions. Just actions, hers and her enemies'. She would live or she would die, and today was as good as any other.

The area around the ship began to clear.

* * *

Obi-Wan froze abruptly, realized that he was still in the middle of a firefight, and moved just in time for a beam of red light to pierce his cloak rather than his skin.

"I feel Ryn," he told his Padawan briefly.

Anakin nodded without taking his eyes from the incoming fire. "I feel ... something."

_Thank you, Padawan. How specific._

The Force surged like a cold, clean tide. It was unfamiliar and yet somehow definably _Ryn_: he recognized that piercing clarity, the intensity of her focus.

It was exhilarating and alarming as an electrical storm.

Obi-Wan put that disconcerting revelation aside to consider later. "I think she's fighting."

Anakin's jaw tightened. "That's not good, Master."

Later they were going to have a talk about the usefulness of his comments. "I certainly don't recall it being a part of the plan," Obi-Wan said tartly for now.

Anakin deflected fire at an angry-looking Weequay and ducked behind the nearest excuse for cover, a decrepit-looking dumpster. "A lot of things weren't, Master."

* * *

Ryn hauled herself over the edge of the hatchway to shout an all-clear at Makesh while keeping one eye on the edge of the clearing, just in case. Her senses were still muddled, and she was having to sight-check rather than _feeling_ for enemies.

"Great!" Makesh called back, and Ryn frowned.

"Do I hear a 'but' coming?"

"But we have to get into town to refuel," Makesh answered grimly. "We're not going to make it to the next port otherwise."

_That's a pretty big 'but'._ Ryn scowled at the empty clearing and dropped the rest of the way inside, hauling the hatch shut after her.

"Okay," she said, making her way to the cockpit. "So we're going to have to take a fueling station."

"By force?"

"No, let's ask just ask nicely and hope for the best," Ryn said acidly. She shook her head. Makesh didn't deserve her bitterness. "It's not much of a choice," she explained, more gently. "We can leave reasonable compensation for the trouble."

Makesh eyed her cautiously. "Two years ago, you wouldn't have said that."

"Two years ago I didn't say much of anything." Ryn grabbed a rag and started wiping her hands, because she could just imagine what Obi-Wan would say if she got blood all over the cockpit. "Now I just want my brother back." _And Anakin. But I can't have him._ She nodded at the info display, still frozen where it had been when the com cut out. "So what have we got?"


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction. I am, however, having an indecent amount of fun.:)

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE**

When blaster fire broke out behind and to her left - several blocks away - Evinne knew what she ought to do was use the distraction. Break and run for the ship.

Except ... that was a _lot_ of blaster fire. And none of it was returning.

Which meant either target practice, or Jedi.

_Kriff it._ Evinne drew her own lightsaber and broke into a sprint ... in exactly the wrong direction, toward the shots.

* * *

Anakin could feel Ryn now - he was pretty sure it was Ryn - and against all the odds, she seemed to be getting _closer_. "Master, do you feel -"

"Evinne, too? Yeah."

_Oh. What?_

Maybe the blinding presence he'd sensed was Evinne and not Ryn. Ryn had certainly seemed to think the older girl was more power ...

Evinne hit the ground beside him, dropping out of nowhere. "Mind if I join the party?"

Anakin suppressed a jolt of anger. It wasn't Evinne's fault that he wanted Ryn instead. He managed a crooked half-smile: "Sure."

"Some welcome," Evinne said; but her eyes were unexpectedly kind.

She fired a blaster bolt over his shoulder, even though her lightsaber was drawn, and then a roar of engines made Anakin look up, and what he saw made him do a double-take.

_Ryn _is_ getting closer._

* * *

The ship dropped in the street, or as close to street level as it could get, hovering just above the rooftops and then tracking slowly toward a wide open space that might once have been a park.

The landing ramp descended, and Orun leapt out onto the lip of it, clinging to the supports with one hand and deftly wielding her lightsaber with the other.

For a second, the thugs were too astonished to do anything but stare; then they exhaled a collectively held breath and opened fire on Ryn with everything they had.

Orun deflected fire like a pro, her green blade blurring into a solid wall of light, holding her own; but fire splashed against the support beside her face anyway, and Evinne saw her flinch away from the spray of hot metal it gouged.

"Go!" she shouted to Skywalker. "I'll cover you!"

Anakin nodded and ran, whipping his lightsaber over his shoulder or running backward to deflect bolts. From the other side of the street, Kenobi was closing in.

The ship reached the cleared space and set down; Ryn jumped off the landing ramp and took up a textbook cover position, between the ramp and the enemies moving in. She was shouting something, but Evinne couldn't hear her over the din.

She could see where the younger girl had been hit; bright streaks of red marred her white face and most of her left side, and there was a set look about her jaw that spoke of tightly controlled pain.

Skywalker must have seen it, too. Mere paces ahead of her, Evinne heard him say, "_Ryn_," achingly ... and miss one of the hail of shots streaking toward him.

It took him high on the shoulder, a glancing shot, but it was enough to make Anakin gasp and drop his lightsaber.

He was smart enough to roll as he dived for it, and come up already deflecting fire as Evinne spun to cover him, but it wasn't going to be enough ...

... And then shots flew past her ear, coming from _behind_, as Ryn dropped to one knee and battered the incoming bounty hunters with the kind of rapid fire that comes not from an automatic weapon, but from lightning reflexes and a supreme confidence in one's own aim.

Evinne watched the ranks thin: Orun was shooting to kill, and she wasn't missing much.

Skywalker had his lightsaber back, and Kenobi reached them with a last bound, motioning Evinne and Anakin on with a quick, elegantly minimalist gesture.

It was so _Obi-Wan_ that Evinne had to smother a grin.

Skywalker looked ready to argue, but Evinne seized his uninjured arm in a vice-grip and hauled him up the landing ramp as Orun and Kenobi guarded the retreat. She thought she saw Orun's eyes flick once to Anakin's tense face; but when Evinne glanced in her direction, Ryn was scanning stoically through the ranks of attackers.

"Kenobi, come on! Let's move!"

Evinne shoved Skywalker past her through the hatch and then turned around, ready to lay down some cover fire so Kenobi and Orun cold sprint for safety. But before she could even get her blaster up, the Jedi was flinging Ryn at her like a rag doll. Evinne grabbed the younger girl and dragged her inside just as Kenobi cleared the threshold.

She leaned forward and hit the controls to retract the landing ramp, hearing Ryn yell to Makesh to _go_.

"Let me see," Kenobi said, gesturing to Ryn's scored and cauterized face; but she shook her head.

"Just needs bacta," she said tersely. In fact, she was already pulling open the supply cabinet, pulling out antiseptic and bandages pre-soaked in bacta, and the small tube to prevent scrapes from scarring.

Evinne knew when she wasn't needed. "Okay," she said, dusting the worst of the grit off her hands. "I'm going to go give Makesh a hand with the piloting."

"Good," Orun said brusquely. "He can brief you."

* * *

Obi-Wan's touch on her burned skin was curiously gentle. If Ryn had expected anything, she would have expected brisk efficiency; but he took his time in daubing each burn mark scored into her skin with antiseptic and spreading the cool, sticky bacta treatment over the injury.

"You had a close call," he said quietly, using his thumb to spread bacta just under her eye.

There wasn't much point in disputing it, sitting here with her face half-covered in bacta. "Yeah," Ryn agreed. "There were more of them than I'd expected. Doesn't bode well for our next venture."

Obi-Wan was wadding the detritus of her treatment for disposal, casting Anakin a disapproving look because he'd refused to be treated before Ryn, even though his injury was more severe; now he turned to look back at her. "What venture?"

His tone was not encouraging. "We're going to take a refueling station."

"_What?_"

"We don't have enough fuel, after that landing, to reach another port," Ryn said. "Without fuel, we're stuck on Garis Orbai." Listing the problems with that scenario would be an insult to his intelligence; Ryn let him get there on his own.

It didn't take long.

"Stang," he muttered, which was about what Ryn had thought when Makesh gave her the news. "Sta -" He cut himself off and shoved the box of medical supplies into Ryn's hands. "Can you - ?"

She knew he meant _take care of Anakin_. "Yeah," Ryn said again, clutching the box reflexively. "Sure."

She watched Anakin watch Obi-Wan go; it didn't take an empath to figure out he was dealing with some abandonment issues. Or just more generally: _my master doesn't care about me._

He was kind of right about that, and kind of wrong: Obi-Wan_ did _care, he just thought it was his duty to care about a lot of other things _first_.

Probably not a thought Anakin would thank her for sharing.

She knelt in the floor beside him, not too close. "Let me take a look?"

Anakin shrugged out of his cloak and tabard, wincing; but when he started tugging at his shirt, Ryn stopped him. "May I?"

Anakin nodded reluctantly, all his trust issues pulling double-duty. Ryn pretended not to notice, figuring it was the kindest thing she could do right now. Pulled his thin, soft tunic free of his Jedi leggings and eased it up in the back, working it loose from the burned skin as gently as she could. Anakin hissed once but never flinched.

The wound was grisly-looking, but not as bad as Ryn had feared. The white bone was smooth and whole beneath the scorched flesh. That was good. Burned flesh was relatively easy to heal, given proper medical care. But if a blaster bolt burned through bone ... there wasn't enough bacta in the galaxy. Sometimes a wound like that never did heal properly.

Ryn tore her mind away from the thought of Anakin maimed and said, "Left hand?"

He understood what she wanted: reached across his body to hold the fabric she'd bunched over his shoulder.

Ryn tried to be quick, afraid neither of them could handle her tenderness right now.

There was a distinct possibility she might cry.

Even wounded, he was beautiful. Ryn tried to narrow her focus to the blaster burn she was treating, but it was hard to miss the rest of him. The slide of muscles in his bare back when he shifted, ever so slightly; the heat of his skin under her fingers, even where it wasn't burned; the faint scent of sandalwood and engine grease that permeated his hair.

_Come on. How sick do you have to be to get turned on by treating a blaster victim?_

Except ... it was _Anakin_. Injured or not, bonded or not ... he was always going to do it for her.

A sane and rational person would probably point out that she couldn't possibly know that yet - but then, a sane and rational person wouldn't have gotten herself into this mess.

Ryn knew.

"Hey." Anakin's voice was gruffly soft. "You okay?"

Ryn drew a measured breath. "Yes. Sorry." She finished with quick, impersonal movements and took her hands from his golden skin. "Done."

She rocked to her feet before either of them could do anything stupid. "I don't think I'm well enough myself to help you heal, but Evinne would probably be willing to help you along if the bacta doesn't start to take the sting out soon."

"I can use the Force," Anakin said.

"Okay," Ryn said.

They stood there for a moment, awkwardly looking everywhere but each other.

Ryn broke first; she cleared her throat, eyes fixed on Anakin's utility belt. "I should go."

She tried to move past him, tripped over her own feet, started the other way and nearly smacked her face into Anakin's shoulder.

_Oh._

He set her upright again, his hands strong on her. They managed a shared, slightly choked laugh. Anakin flattened himself against the wall and waved her forward with exaggerated courtesy.

"Right," Ryn said. "Um. Thanks."

* * *

A/N: Stories are more fun when they're shared! Leave a review and let me know what you think. :)


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Ryn's line late in the chapter, "[...] the hurts that time cannot heal," is a paraphrase of a line given by Frodo in Peter Jackson's film adaptation of the Lord of the Rings. It seemed to fit the Lorethan ethos, and Ryn's particular experience, almost eerily well.

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX**

Watching the Lorethans plan was an experience all by itself. Obi-Wan watched them in fascination: these beautiful, brilliant, violent children.

He had the uncanny feeling he was watching from the outside a scene that had been played out many times before.

_This was their childhood. They grew up doing this._

He wondered how old Ryn had been the first time she had squatted amongst other bloody young creates and planned a casual assault against impossible odds.

They were expecting heavy resistance, but that didn't seem to bother them.

They weren't even concerned that two of the five fighters available were already sporting bandages.

Obi-Wan reluctantly brought this to their attention; the Lorethans looked at him, then at each other, then back.

"Skywalker can stay in the ship," Evinne said finally, taking the lead. "We'll need a pilot and a gunner in here, so you can stay with him. The rest of us will drop just inside the perimeter -"

"What about Ryn?" Obi-Wan interrupted. "She's wounded."

All three of them registered surprise on those starkly white Lorethan faces, betraying their _sameness_: it wasn't natural, for human beings from disparate familial groups to look so much alike. That had to mean something. Probably one of the many things Ryn was hiding. Evinne said, "Shorty can fight through anything. She'll be all right."

Obi-Wan chose not to comment on how obviously Evinne was trying to convince herself. "I should go in her place," he said reasonably. "Ryn can act as gunner." He'd seen her in target practice; she could do the job as well as anyone.

"Better not," Ryn said abruptly. She looked up and met Obi-Wan's eyes, and he felt a jolt of surprise. Something had changed in those sparkling green depths. They were sharp and bright as ever, but ... something was missing, some trace of uncertainty or wistfulness that had always shadowed her presence before. She was ... _Clearer. Brighter. Harder._ "The less the Jedi are involved, the better. It's bad enough that you and Anakin have to be here for this. You shouldn't have to do violence for it."

"You think staying in he ship relieves us of responsibility?" Obi-Wan asked her quietly. "You think we're not complicit just because we don't kill beings face-to-face?"

Obi-Wan frowned down into Ryn's guileless green eyes. "There has to be a better way."

Ryn shook her head, breaking eye contact. "I don't think so. Not if the pirates control the spaceport. We have to have fuel, and we are willing to pay a fair price for it. But we have to get past those pirates or it's no good."

Her reasoning was sound, but ... cold. "Ryn, the Jedi strive to avoid violence whenever possible. I don't -"

Ryn came to her feet with the lethal grace of a preying cat. "Obi-Wan," she said, still with that clear, uncompromising gaze, "it is not possible in this instance. I appreciate your reservations, but we need that fuel, the owner - if he is still alive - needs our business, and the pirates are in the way. So we will eliminate them."

Obi-Wan swallowed, chilled. It wasn't that her argument didn't make sense, but ... how could she demonstrate so little compunction over the proposed loss of life?

"When you say 'eliminated' ..."

"We will give mercy to anyone who asks for it."

Her tone made it clear she didn't think anyone would.

"Master, they're _pirates_," Anakin reminded him, and Obi-Wan tried not to flinch as he remembered how Anakin and Siri had first met. "We could be doing the station owner a favor by getting rid of them. And it's not like they are innocent victims. They chose to be here. They took over the spaceport. We can give it back."

Even Anakin had to realize that was a drastic rationalization.

Evinne looked nervous. "Not the whole thing, though, right? Right?"

"Not unless you can think of any way the three of us could take the control center." That was Ryn, sounding uncomfortably sharp and willing to attempt just such a suicidal maneuver.

"No," Evinne said fervently. "I can't."

But Ryn was looking thoughtful. "If there is a local resistance ..."

"No!" Evinne exclaimed. "We don't have a way to contact them anyway." the older girl heaved a breath. "We're not out to save the galaxy, here."

Ryn's youthful face was abruptly bleak. "Maybe we should be."

[]

The strangest part came when the three Lorethans formed a circle, arms linked, hands on each other's shoulders.

"I can't lead the attack," Ryn said miserably. Her shame was a dark wash of blood in the Force.

The other two registered surprise again.

"You're a good fighter," Evinne said, plainly trying to be reassuring. On her it sat with comic unease. "And you're keen. You can do it."

"No, I mean I'm unfit," Ryn said, painfully. "I have no center. I can't anchor anybody."

Evinne and Makesh exchanged looks. Apparently they knew what she meant, and it was very bad news.

Evinne asked a question in her native language.

Ryn squeezed her eyes shut, nodded intently, and then forced her eyes open again. "Basic," she rasped. "Don't spare me. You can't in any case."

Evinne sighed. "Don't be such a martyr."

In unison, the three of them closed their eyes and dropped beneath the surface of the Force, as seamless an execution of at-will linked meditation as Obi-Wan had ever seen. he could feel them searching, probing: cold feel Ryn's utter stillness, submitting to their examination. The place they probed must have been both private and painful: she was shaking like a leaf.

Finally they withdrew came back to themselves. Exchanged serious glances that weighted their youth.

There was a brief silence while they all tried to avoid saying something.

Ryn spoke first, chin up to belie her utter helplessness. "I'm broken," she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact and achieving only a kind of proud defiance. "Aren't I?"

Evinne glanced at Makesh and then quickly away again. "It will heal, in time."

"It will scar." Ryn held herself straight with the dignity of the defeated. "You can't heal what isn't there. If part of you is just _gone_, it doesn't grow back." She wavered for just a second, her eyes dropping briefly to the deckplates; and then, against the odds, found her balance again, grounding. She met Evinne's eyes, her face lightening in the ghost of a smile. "That's what death is for, for the hurts that time cannot heal."

"Death?" Anakin said, panicked. "No! Ryn -"

Evinne waved him back with an impatient hand, and to Obi-Wan's surprise he subsided, apparently too troubled to insist.

"That is the body," Evinne said carefully, to Ryn. "The soul has its own resilience."

Obi-Wan noticed that Evinne used the Basic word _soul_, where Ryn earlier had said _psyche_; he wondered whether they were the same word in Lorethan.

Ryn started to say something, cut herself off with a quick shake of her head. "That doesn't help us today. Today, you will have to lead the mission."

Evinne looked doubtful, which was not encouraging. "If you resist ..."

"I won't resist."

Evinne gave her a measuring look. "It might be harder than you think."

Ryn's gaze flicked sharply to Anakin then back. "I've had a lot of practice being second."

Anakin flinched, but Evinne just nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on Ryn's. "Okay," she said. "If you're sure?"

"I'm sure," said Ryn, and she felt like it, in the Force.

The three of them linked again, shutting the Jedi out, and Obi-Wan felt the Force moving through them, but he couldn't tell what they were doing. It seemed to take a long time.

When they came up again, there was something different about them, a togetherness. They moved like pack animals moved: not in unison, but in complement to one another. And they all felt, in the Force, like wounded animals.

"Sorry," Ryn said, grimacing. "I can't figure out how to hide ... that." Her bleeding pain, that apparently Anakin had something to do with. His Padawan's guilt was almost as loud in the Force as Ryn's misery.

"A warrior need never apologize for fighting wounded," Evinne said with determination. "The only shame is that you must do so."

Ryn bowed fluidly in acknowledgement.

Evinne turned to Obi-Wan. "We are ready."

There were no words for how much he wanted to understand _how_ they were ready. The Jedi had nothing like this pre-battle bonding, no equivalent or basis for comparison. Did it make the Lorethan group strong? Did they always do this before joining battle? Was it a part of their training?

Had Ryn missed it, during her year with the Jedi?

Obi-Wan said, "Take the controls, Padawan. I'll be your co-pilot this time."

Their plain - dropping the three Lorethan fighters from a moving ship into the middle of the spaceport's central fueling station, and then hovering on repulsors for the re-fuel, was going to take the kind of piloting he'd trust only to Anakin or Ry-Gaul.

This concession lit Anakin's eyes, though his usual cockiness was considerably damped - probably not by the upcoming fight, which would at least have been reasonable, but by Ryn's unhappiness, which could only distract him.

That was Anakin's greatest failing: he cared too much. He was unable to let go, to ignore another being's pain even when there was nothing he could do to fix it.

_He's always been like that. I'd never have met him otherwise. _

How did a boy who risked his life for strangers at nine learn to care less about his friends?

Would he still be Anakin if he did?


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Action! UST! Danger!

**CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN**

The Lorethans suited up for war with a kind of brisk efficiency that suggested they'd done this before, maybe even as a team.

Anakin watched Ryn with a burning heart. "Be careful," he told her as she checked her lightsaber one last time.

Ryn looked up from her utility belt and gave him a smile - her real smile. "You, too."

Anakin swallowed hard. "I will." _Deep breaths._ "Ryn, I -"

Ryn crossed the cockpit in one long stride, leaned over his pilot's seat ... and kissed him, unexpectedly, full on the mouth.

Hard.

In front of Obi-Wan.

It was a desperate, searing kiss, a kiss of parting, a kiss full of all the things they meant to each other, and Anakin wound his fingers through her dirty hair and kissed her back with all the fervor of his confusion.

They were both breathing raggedly when Ryn broke the kiss and pulled back to meet his eyes. "Don't say it," she whispered, the breath hitching in her throat, and he knew she meant _goodbye._

Anakin nodded slowly, his eyes locked on hers. "Good luck," he said instead, and Ryn ducked her head to hide her crooked smile, but he knew it was there.

"I'll see you on the other side," she promised, and went to join the fight.

Obi-Wan, mercifully, pretended to have been temporarily blind, deaf, and stupid: he gave no sign that he had noticed anything out of the ordinary.

* * *

The fighting was intense but short-lived. The pirates had prepared the spaceport - rather shabbily - against a frontal assault, but not against a targeted hit-and-run, demonstrating a remarkable lack of insight about their own line of work. Hondo would have spit, but Evinne was mostly just relieved.

Their plan depended on speed - on striking, refueling, and getting off-world again _fast_. Skywalker had won the Boonta Eve; Evinne wasn't terribly worried about his piloting. Makesh was as reliably swift and accurate as ever, unperturbed in the face of violent death. Ryn, in some ways, was better than she had ever been: faster, fiercer, more ruthless. It was as if, with nothing left to lose, she no longer kept anything to hold back.

Bereft, Ryn was fearless.

Evinne, as usual, was just trying to stay alive. It seemed like enough to keep her busy.

* * *

The pirates managed to raise some reinforcements just as Evinne was connecting the fuel hose. Makesh saw them first and shouted a warning.

_Not good._ The pirates were coming in low, flying heavily modded starfighters and stitching down red lines of strafing fire.

Ryn heard Evinne cursing, and felt a distant agreement with her. This was the moment when they were most vulnerable. Evinne was tied to the fuel line, and Anakin and Obi-Wan were sitting dead. They couldn't take evasive action, and one shot anywhere along the fuel system would obliterate them in a ball of flame.

But there was a rusty speeder bike sitting against the nearest retaining wall.

It was crazy, but ... _It's not like I've got anything to lose._

Ryn wrenched it free, kicked it to life, and pointed it straight at her own ship.

The thing about speeder bikes was that they operated on basic repulsor technology. Not strong enough to get them much more than head-height off the ground, usually - but a speeder bike's repulsors couldn't tell the difference between the ground and any other mass bigger than itself.

So when she tugged up sharply on the control bars, a meter short of splattering herself all over the hull of the ship, the speeder bike obediently tracked up the side and floated a couple of meets over the surface as Ryn revved the engines.

There were three fighters incoming, and Ryn met them head-on.

Shooting past over the cockpit, Ryn heard the repulsors whine and cut out, but she had the altitude she needed, and she let go the controls long enough to open fire with both blasters. At that range, multiple shots would slag even space-worthy transparisteel, and she held the trigger down and didn't let up.

Whether the pilots were actually dead or just blinded by the light and smoke, Ryn couldn't tell - she still couldn't feel much beyond her own pain. But the first two fighters corkscrewed like badly thrown rocks and impacted on the unforgiving duracrete on either side.

The other one was tracking on _her_ now, ignoring its original target. Ryn observed her imminent destruction with a curious detachment as she fell toward earth.

Blaster fire from the cannons ripped the air around her, plasma ionizing the local atmosphere and scalding her skin. Ryn felt herself jerked to one side, as though an invisible fist had snatched her out of the way, for some inscrutable purpose known only to itself.

_Oh._ She twisted to look. Obi-Wan, holding onto her with the Force while Anakin jinked the ship around on its tight leash, a lead of less than two meters.

_Put me down and activate the dorsal turret,_ Ryn thought impatiently. But then she saw why he hadn't done so already: the dorsal turret was a smoking ruin.

_I've got a bad feeling about this._


	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT**

Obi-Wan's first warning, as he tried futilely to get the dorsal turret working again, was Anakin's curse, spat at the viewscreen in lurid Huttese.

Obi-Wan squinted, did a double-take, jabbed at the dorsal controls as Anakin jinked the ship wildly on its two-meter lead. "What does she think she's doing?"

"Buying us time?" Anakin gritted. "Master, I can't -"

"I know." And he did. He knew that it was impossible for them to last the minutes it would take to complete a refuel while they were under fire; the hull was barely spaceworthy now. But he couldn't think of any way - watching Ryn sail gracefully through the air and fire that perfect stream of shots - to account for the third pilot without a functioning dorsal turret.

He seized Ryn with the Force by reflex, because he never let anyone die unless he had to.

The third pilot, apparently, was sufficiently startled by the sight of a girl hanging suspended in mid-air - probably not a common sight on any planet large enough to hold an atmosphere - that he actually swerved his course to take a closer look. Pirates were notorious for their lack of discipline, and also he had to know they were out of guns.

Except for Ryn.

In swerving, he made a critical mistake. He turned his cockpit temporarily dead-on to face Ryn.

Her blaster bolts splashed against the transparisteel directly before his face; Obi-Wan doubted whether the pilot himself had been hurt, at that range and angle, but he must certainly have been distracted.

His fighter crumpled as it hit the ground, perhaps the only instance in history of a single girl taking out three starfighters with two blasters.

Obi-Wan wrapped the Force around Ryn like a blanket and drew her down to rest on the cockpit canopy.

She looked ghastly, white-faced under scalded skin and spattered with blood, gouged with vibroknife wounds, but she gave him a shaky smile and a thumbs-up anyway.

Anakin yelled at her through the transparisteel. "What were you thinking? You could have been killed! _Idiot_!"

Ryn's smile dimmed; the brief _lightness_ that had sweetened her tight face vanished. She shook her head at him without making eye contact and backflipped to the ground, a perfect execution of Form IV.

* * *

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Anakin made a futile attempt to avoid his master's disappointed eyes. "You look as though I had hit a puppy."

"No," Obi-Wan said. "Ryn is a sentient being. Does that make it better?"

Anakin clung to the puppy argument as a diversionary tactic, to keep him from himself. "Puppies are helpless."

"And Ryn is not helpless, when it comes to you?"

Anakin, startled, jerked his eyes to his master's face; but he found nothing there that could help him, no trace of unruly feeling. He shifted again. "I didn't ask her to be."

"Perhaps not. But you have the power to hurt her, just the same."

Anakin flinched from that thought; it had been proven true in too many ways lately. "Well, she _was_ being idiotic," he said instead. "She could have been killed!"

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "She did a brave and reckless thing. She acted impulsively, to save others, without a thought for herself." He gave his Padawan a pointed look. "How fortunate that I do not know anyone else like that."

Anakin was too distressed - and, yes, resentful - to take the implied compliment. "Master," he began miserably, "you _know_ that stunt was crazy ..."

"Yes, it was," Obi-Wan said, uncompromising. "But she would not be Ryn if she had not done it."

Anakin slumped, giving in. "I know, Master."

"And?"

"And I want her to be herself," Anakin said. "But I want her to be herself for a long time."

"Anakin." Obi-Wan's voice was unexpectedly gentle. "This is the danger of attachment. You are afraid of losing Ryn, and that fear leads you to anger. And in that anger, you have hurt your friend. This is why a Jedi must train himself not to harbor attachments." He laid a hand on Anakin's knee. "It is not easy, but it is wise."

Anakin opened his mouth, fumbling his way toward an answer.

He was interrupted by Makesh, who appeared suddenly. "We have the fuel," he said. "Evinne is concluding the sale."

"Ryn?" Anakin asked quickly.

"On lookout."

There did not seem to be anything to say, but Obi-Wan surprised him.

"Go," his master said.

* * *

"Ryn?" She turned her head just enough to acknowledge him with a raised eyebrow. "I'm sorry for what I said, before." She turned back to her survey of the surrounding area. "I didn't mean it."

"'S all right."

"I was afraid, and - would you just _look_ at me, when I'm talking to you?"

"Not while I'm on lookout." Ryn shot him one quick glance. "I'm listening."

_Right. Okay._ "I was afraid," Anakin began again, "and I let that fear make me angry."

"Fear leads to anger," Ryn said. "I remember."

He was never going to get a better chance than this. "Yeah," he said slowly, feeling his way. "Or sometimes it just leads to stupidity."

Ryn said, "Huh?"

Which was fair, because at this rate the only diplomacy he'd ever master would be the kind that involved a lightsaber.

"Look," Anakin said, desperately, "I keep trying to apologize, and somehow I'm just making it worse. But I'm going to try one more time, because I can't - I can't just leave it like this. That morning, in your bedroom -"

"Anakin, stop." It wasn't so much the words as the tone that brought him up short. "You have nothing to apologize for." Ryn dragged in a rough breath. "But even if you did, you already said you were sorry, before we ever left Coruscant." She took her eyes off the perimeter long enough to send him a quick, wry grin. "Remember?"

"Yeah." Actually, his enduring memory of that conversation had more to do with what she hadn't been wearing at the time. "But I know you're still upset. I can feel it."

"I'm not upset, I'm guilty," Ryn said. "That's not your fault."

"Yeah," Anakin said. "Except it is. Ryn, what could you possibly have to feel guilty about?"

"You don't think sexually molesting your best friend is enough to give a decent person nightmares for years?" Ryn dropped her face into her hands and laughed harshly. "Of course, that assumes that I _am_ a decent person, which at this point ..."

_Oh. _Oh.

The shift in perspective left Anakin dizzy and disoriented. Sick with Ryn's pain.

He grabbed her by the arm and turned her to face him, but she kept her head down, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Ryn, _please_. Listen to me. It wasn't like that at all. How could you think it was?"

"Well ... you did run away. Literally." Ryn swallowed convulsively. "And ... you were _afraid_. I could feel it."

_Of course you could_. Anakin closed his eyes. "Ryn, I wasn't afraid of _you_. I was afraid of _myself_. Of what I might do if I stayed." He tore himself away from the memory of Ryn's hot eagerness, the way she'd gasped and clutched him tighter, the temptation to forget everything else and just bury himself in her. "I didn't want to hurt you."

Her silence made him open his eyes. Her own were huge and uncertain in the dusk. "I don't understand," she said slowly. "What was it that you were afraid of doing?"

Anakin looked around, everywhere but at her. "Can't you just accept that I was afraid?"

"Okay," Ryn said, undemanding as ever, and turned back to her survey of the terrain.

Letting it go.

Letting _him_ go.

And Anakin found himself suddenly sick with the realization that nothing Ryn could ever say to him would be as bad as knowing that she had given up on him.

* * *

This is Anakin Skywalker, right now:

He is terrified. The fear of losing the one person in the universe who still _tries_, at least, to understand him - the only person in the galaxy who still believes in him, no matter what - is like a knife in his throat, and he can't _breathe_. It is worse than all the nameless things he hasn't let himself remember in the years since he and Mom were sold to Watto and his mother _cried_ because it was such a _relief_ ...

He reaches out, grabs Ryn by the shoulders and turns her back to face him. He sees the quick flash of anger in her green eyes, but he can't let go. Not yet.

The words spill out so fast he nearly chokes on them.

"It's not fair!"

"Not _fair_?" Ryn spits, her voice suddenly low and dangerous, shaking his hand loose, and the menace, the sheer _power_, behind it, is so unlike the Ryn he knows that Anakin is stunned, half-afraid he's lost her already. "Since when is life fair?"

Her bitterness leaves him bewildered. He hangs on anyway, because it is desperately important for him to make her understand. "It isn't," he gasps. "But I want to be. Fair. To you."

Ryn stares. "Is this a _joke_?"

"No! Ryn, I -" This is the problem with words, and he knows he's doing it all wrong: even the best words are only distractions, not even proper reflections of the real things, and he can't reach inside her any more and just _make her see_, and at best he can only give her a slivered and dilute residue of his feelings.

He tries anyway. "You'd be taking all the risks. I couldn't take care of you, if - if something happened." He takes her by the hands, willing her to understand that he can't be the one who asks her to risk bloody, screaming pain and a new life to care for just so he can get his rocks off. There's no family there, nowhere for them to run, and that's not love.

He _can't_.

It takes Ryn a minute to get there, but she isn't stupid and even without their bond she _knows_ him.

"You're afraid of getting me pregnant."

She didn't seem to find it as difficult to say that out loud as he did, and why was it that Ryn could always find the courage to _say_ things when Anakin couldn't even figure out where to _start_?

"Yeah," he says, now that it's out there anyway. "Among ... other things. Love should be something you do _together_, not something you do _to each other_. Ryn, we're not ready. Either of us. Can't you feel it?"

She tenses, and he knows he's hurt her all over again, in spite of everything. But then she sighs, a tightly controlled exhale of resignation.

"Yeah. I do." She looks down at their joined hands. "I mean, it's basically the reason we had to sever the bond. Two broke people can't make a whole." She squeezes his hands and gently disentangles her fingers. "Losing ourselves in each other was the easy way out. This is harder, but ... right."

She's right on all counts, and he hates it. "So where does that leave us?"

"Right now? On Garis Orbai." She half-laughs at his grimace, and the sound is wry but there's some relief in it, too. "I don't know. I think we just try to land on our feet."

_Easier said than done._ Anakin takes a deep breath, about to tell her _yes, okay, whatever you want, just don't _leave_ me,_ but then Evinne comes out of the dingy little payment center (now liberally decorated with the burn-rings of blaster fire) and the moment is broken.

Somehow, when he climbs up to the hatch and turns to help Ryn in and finds her already reaching for him - because she never expected him to do anything else - it's almost okay.


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE**

The inconvenient thin about this raw new separation - aside from the muscle aches, occasional nausea, and throbbing pains in the head that Evinne said should fade as they began to heal - was that he could feel Ryn more clearly than ever before. Like the air temperature, she was noticeable in difference. She was striking, now, in the truest sense of the world.

She invaded his dreams. Shared them less, but appeared in them more, and _naked_. Dream Ryn was inventive and energetic and a lot less passive than her original. Where real-life Ryn was reticent and sincere and committed to respecting his wishes - to the extent that she avoided him much of the time, apparently intent on honoring her not-entirely-clear plan of giving them both a chance to heal, or maybe it was to grow - Dream Ryn was fierce and demanding and wouldn't take no for an answer. She rode him with wild abandon, or showed up and demanded satisfaction on the spot, in highly unorthodox positions. Sometimes exotic foodstuffs were involved, and at least twice perfectly good linens were destroyed in the quest for blindfolds and what Dream Ryn called "light" restraints.

Also, she liked to be on top.

There was just no good way to clean his sheets on board the ship, and Dream Ryn's activities were leaving him sticky and pungent several times a night, so it was only a matter of time before someone took notice.

It was bad enough on the second morning, when Obi-Wan looked askance at the messy sheets, cleared his throat once, and suggested, blushing furiously, that perhaps Anakin should begin making a little extra time for himself in the evenings, to "meditate" before bed.

Anakin didn't know whether to laugh or choke him.

But when Evinne bullied him into the refresher in the middle of the third afternoon and asked him bluntly if he could use a helping hand ... he began to wonder whether it were actually possible for a human to die of embarrassment.

He'd heard somewhere that Bothans could.

It was worse when he opened the refresher door, anxious to make good his escape while Evinne was still trying to make sense of his inarticulate refusal, and met Ryn's wide, startled eyes, seeing them together.

"Oh," she said, changing colors painfully.

Anakin leapt after her, catching her arm as she turned to go.

"No! Ryn, it's not like that."

"It's all right," Ryn muttered, eyes downcast. "You never promised ... anything."

But beneath her hard little voice, trying so hard to be brave, lay their unspoken understanding that if he had been indulging with anyone, it would have been her. That this rejection wasn't _personal_, even it if was _painful_.

"Ryn, I -" Anakin didn't even know how to begin that line of thought. _We're screwing each other senseless in my dreams_ didn't sound like an auspicious conversation starter.

But whatever else you could say about Evinne - and Anakin could think of several items that were less than flattering - she did take responsibility for her own actions.

She pushed forward and said, "Areth'ryn, it's my fault. I offered and he said no. He turned me down, I swear."

Ryn's eyes flashed with temper. "Isn't it enough that you are banging Aravel night and day?"

Evinne cut in with a short burst in Lorethan that Anakin couldn't interpret, but her gesture needed no translation.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, suddenly indignant as well as mortified. "I am not ... _doing that_!"

Both girls stared at him in patent disbelief.

"... It happens in my sleep," Anakin mumbled, and made his escape.

It didn't make things any easier that Ryn was right about her fellow Lorethans and their enthusiastic drives. If they weren't on duty, they were having sex, and they didn't seem to feel any particular need to keep it to themselves.

But their favorite place was in Evinne's sleeping quarters, which she shared with Ryn. That would have been a real problem, except that Ryn was spending practically every spare minute training.

She tried to explain it to Anakin, but the most he was able to grasp was that all the psychic upheaval had dampened her senses, or something, and she needed to get fighting fit again, fast. That sounded like a case for meditation if he'd ever heard one, but Ryn was training with a lightsaber, and training _hard_.

Anakin figured he'd had plenty of psychic upheaval lately himself, so he put in some hours sparring with her. He couldn't tell if it actually helped, but Ryn's quick, grateful smile when he drew his lightsaber and dropped into form across from her was all the thanks he'd ever need.

Training with Ryn, despite the tension that settled between them in less active situations, felt good. Natural. In their best moments, Anakin could almost glimpse a time when their relationship had been a little bit like this, after the first awkwardness of her attraction to him had faded some and before the trauma of their mangled - and mangling - adventure with the Blades of Light. It was as though he were remembering something that had never actually happened, catching snippets of what might have been. It was confusing as hell, but that was low on Anakin's list of priorities at the moment.

They talked about it - hesitantly and never for long at a stretch, mindful that small fragments of revelation were all either of them could really handle right now. But Ryn said that they were getting know each other as real people now, whatever that meant, and that probably you couldn't expect a relationship that started as a science experiment and then downshifted into a flight through life-or-death situations to be terribly healthy.

Anakin argued that they had survived those situations _together_ for a reason, and Ryn smiled at him, relentlessly determined to be positive even though he had only to open himself to the Force to see that she was still hurting, as much as he was. "How can we be friends if we can't even be ourselves?"

Anakin had no idea what that meant, but whatever it was, Ryn believed in it. Believed she _needed_ it. She was so ... hopeful ... about the prospect of this new personhood, whatever she meant by it, that he couldn't bring himself to try and alter her determination. So he swallowed his pain, told himself the flash of anger was just his headache talking, and remembered that all love is unconditional.

"Whatever you need," he told her, and was rewarded by a smile - small, almost shy, but so blinding in its sheer sincerity that he felt his stomach drop.

"It is good to have your own mind," she said quietly, willing him to understand even though he never would. "I like it. I like yours."

Evinne, when she wasn't busy straddling Makesh - Ryn's muttered aside explained to him that woman-on-top was the default position for Lorethan culture, which offered a whole new, and deeply unnecessary, spin on his dreams - seemed convinced that their bonding had begun almost at once, to run so deep; but Ryn insisted that something had changed for her after he pulled her back from the brink of death (she said, very quietly, that it wasn't wasn't so much the brink of death as the shadow of life, and that was another thing that Anakin couldn't quite get his head around but tried to accept anyway). "Maybe that's not how the bond was forged, but that's how it got twisted." Reflectively, she added, "It is good to be intimate, but it is not good to lose yourself in someone else."

_That was about as clear as a sandstorm._

Anakin thought he might be willing to lose himself in somebody if only they would make it stop hurting, but he kept that thought to himself.

Ryn didn't need to hear it.

In the meantime, Obi-Wan was undisguisedly fascinated by Lorethan healing and training techniques, which was a frustration to him because the three of them who had been present for the severance refused to explain it to him, not least because they felt wholly inadequate to do so. But Ryn was up for some sparring matches, in which she lost more than she won, but still managed to prove pretty conclusively that Jedi didn't have the corner on bad-assery.

Evinne offered him a crash course in Lorethan sexuality.

Obi-Wan declined Evinne's offer with a healthy dose of sarcasm, but he did watch Evinne and Ryn spar together, which they did stripped down to the bare essentials. It made for fairly graphic entertainment, and Anakin had his own suspicions about Evinne's motives, but he kept those to himself, too.

He was doing that a lot these days.

That was what they were all doing - Evinne and Ryn demonstrating their skills and their capacity to look insanely good while covered in sweat, Obi-Wan and Anakin watching and trying to look appropriately detached - when the intercom cut in, the hyperdrive cut out, and Makesh summoned them all to the cockpit in peremptory fashion.

A shadow crossed Evinne's face. "That didn't sound good."

"Anticipation is distraction," Obi-Wan told her.

Evinne rolled her eyes, accepting this as part of her ongoing verbal dejarik with the Jedi, but Ryn, taking the towel Anakin tossed at her, shook her head in silent concern.

"You sense something?" Anakin murmured as they followed the other two into the narrow corridor.

Ryn sighed. "I don't know. Maybe." She trailed her fingers absently over a healing cut on her cheekbone that Anakin was sickeningly afraid was going to scar, even though it hadn't looked that bad the day she'd gotten it. "I can definitely sense things again. People. It's just ... coming back slowly. Muddled." She tipped her head to one side. "And I still can't sense the Force the way you do."

Her skin was peeling where cannon blasts had superheated the air around her, and of course that made the healing cuts look worse. Anakin had a deep-seated horror of Ryn being scarred, as though it would somehow be the ultimate tragedy to mar such pointless beauty.

Like stomping a flower.

He said, "But you could feel it before, right? Before we met?"

Ryn grimaced. "Sometimes."

"_Sometimes?_" Anakin missed a step and caught himself on the bulkhead. Ryn waited for him, one hand on the edge of the hatchway into the cockpit. "Okay, look, you really need to explain ..." he stepped through the hatchway and stopped, frozen by what he saw through the scratched transparisteel "... _that_."

"Indeed," said Obi-Wan, apropos of the view but not of their conversation.


	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER FORTY**

The planet loomed brown and bleak beyond the transparisteel panes, offering no signs of life.

"There's a warning buoy," Makesh said, and Anakin knew him well enough by now to recognize this particular shade of toneless as Bad News.

"_Warning: Travelers are advised to avoid the planet Arabin at all costs. We have been infected by a biotoxin hostile to all known life-forms. We are pursuing research for a cure, but in the meantime we urge you to avoid our world. Warning: Travelers are advised -"_

Silence in the cockpit. Finally Ryn said, "Can anyone _feel_ the planet?"

Echoes of pain and fear, the vestiges of panic ... Anakin opened his eyes to see Obi-Wan staring through the window at the bleak orb in horror.

"There's no one there," the Jedi Knight, his voice hushed with pain. "Echoes, the Force is tainted here ... but nothing new. It's completely empty."

"Damn it," Evinne said, but there was something in her voice that Anakin had never heard, a fierce and futile anger at the injustice of the universe. He understood her better in that moment than he ever had.

The fair-haired Lorethan dropped into the co-pilot's chair and punched up a display, tapping the screen with a long, tapered finger. "That's the planet six weeks ago, the last time the hyperspace map was updated."

A green disc hung suspended against a backdrop of stars.

"The green is from plant life. Chlorophyll, photosynthesis. It's fairly common on planets that support humanoid life."

Anakin looked from the tiny screen beside Evinne's scarred wrist to the transparisteel viewport. "You mean ..."

"Looks that way," Evinne said, understanding his inability to bring that sentence to a conclusion. To Makesh, she added, "Have you tried hailing the planet?"

Makesh shook his head. "I didn't want to rush in."

"We should at least try," Obi-Wan said, even though it was clearly more like a gesture of funereal respect than any sort of an attempt at aid to those who were beyond the need for it and Evinne nodded.

Makesh hit the switch and transmitted a greeting on standard frequencies.

They waited.

Five minutes later Makesh tried again.

When their third hail had received no response after half an hour, and with no life form readings on any of their scans, they finally called a halt.

"We won't find anything just sitting here in space," Obi-Wan said. "And in any case this may be the most damning evidence we could have uncovered." He sighed heavily. "Not that it will do the inhabitants of that planet any good."

"Master?"

"A biotoxin that can destroy an entire planet's ecosystem?" Obi-Wan said. "Jenna Zan Arbor might as well have left her calling card."

Anakin frowned. "I never heard that she did anything like that, Master."

"And you think she wouldn't?" Obi-Wan queried, lifting one eyebrow. "We know that she has developed bioweapons in the past. I doubt she cares how they are used."

"I only meant that we should not jump to conclusions, Master."

Obi-Wan sighed. "You are right, Padawan. And yet ... my instincts tell me this is no natural disaster."

His own instincts were busy recovering from their bruises. "Yes, Master."

"Well," Makesh said, breaking into the heavy silence that fell between them. "Where do we go from here?"

Evinne leaned back in her seat, tapping her lips with one finger. "I think we have to go all the way home."

"What?" Ryn said, alarmed. "Why?"

"Because it's the only lead we have," Evinne said bluntly. "We came you here on no more than the vague suspicion that someone was holding your brother against his will, that _my_ brother might be involved because he would stand to benefit, and that Granta Omega might be funding the operation because he has the money and would love to get his hands on some Sensitives. We need facts. And _if_ our theory holds any water, then the place to pick up the trail."

"But is Kit is not on Loreth," Ryn said, her voice tight with urgency. "He can't be. Someone would have -"

"Did I say he was?" Evinne demanded. "But he _was_ there at some point, and so was Stevan. And you're useless as a tracker until you get your shit together again. So we have to find a trail the hard way." She stabbed her finger at Ryn. "Which is another good reason for you to get your stubborn ass back home. You need a _real_ healer, Ryn. I'm not trained for this mess."

Ryn's face was white. "We can't bring the Jedi to Loreth unauthorized. We need some kind of buffer, we have to -"

"So we'll take them to Fjornel and hold out until we get something done," Evinne said. "We can't wander around the Outer Rim forever. We need answers. We need rest and supplies and a chance to gather ourselves. And Loreth is the place to find all that." She looked sharply at Ryn. "Besides. You weren't this nervous before. What's changed?"

"I - I don't - I can't -"

"You can't _feel_ them any more, so you can't vouch for them," Evinne said flatly. "Consider it a lesson in how the rest of the galaxy lives. And your senses _will_ come back, Shorty. In the meantime, either you trust Skywalker and Kenobi, or you don't."

Ryn's silence in the face of this observation made both Anakin and Obi-Wan turn to stare.

"Ryn?"

Ryn wet her lips. "They are Jedi," she said finally, breathlessly. "Treat them as Jedi." She turned to Makesh. "And set a course for Nar Akton. We should be able to punch a signal through to Loreth from there."

And Anakin felt betrayed all over again.


	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER FORTY-ONE**

Things had been awkward in the cockpit after Ryn admitted that if she couldn't get a reading on them then no, she didn't trust the Jedi - which basically that she didn't trust them at all, because how can you trust someone _only_ when you can keep an eye on them? That wasn't trust, and Ryn knew it. So she had surrendered the field and retreated to her quarters, too hollow for the moment to train any more and mindful of the need to grant Anakin some space. Despite this drowning of her senses, his feeling of betrayal came through clearly - and yet what could she do? Apologize, when if it came down to it she would do the same thing again? She would not give Anakin words that meant nothing.

She was brooding over this, when a knock sounded on her door.

She tried to identify the presence, realized she couldn't do that any more, and said, "Come in."

It was Obi-Wan.

* * *

She looked so small and young, sitting there hunched in her minimalist bunk. Evinne's was hung with strands of colorful beads and - yes, that definitely _was_ a glass phallus, elegant in its own way, hanging suspended overhead. He really didn't want to know where Evinne had found that thing, or what she'd been using it for.

Ryn tried to straighten as he opened the door, but nothing could hide the lines of fatigue that were etching themselves into her posture, despite her best efforts, or the circles that haunted her eyes like bruises.

She had plenty of _actual_ bruises, too.

"The last time I saw you looking this ill, you were on bed rest," Obi-Wan remarked by way of greeting, and saw Ryn try to answer him with a smile that came off a little ragged at the edges.

"Master Kenobi," she said. Her voice was hoarse, and he wondered if she'd been crying. "Come in."

Obi-Wan stepped inside and sat gingerly beside her. "What happened to _Obi-Wan_?"

Ryn had the grace to flinch. "Borsana, I guess. What we did there ..." She shook her head. "You would do anything for the Jedi. Anything."

"And you waited until now to bring this up because ...?"

She scrubbed her face with her hands. The knuckles were bleeding. "Because now is when I had to answer whether I trust you or not. And I just realized that the answer is: I don't."

"Well," Obi-Wan said, stung in spite of himself, "I'm glad you were able to dispense with half a year together to make your decision based on _one_ mission."

Ryn looked at him with sad eyes, but there was no accusation in them. "It is the only time I have ever seen you in a moral dilemma," she pointed out softly, as though instructing a wayward child. "And you chose the Order and the good of a government that you, yourself, believe and admitted to be corrupt over the rights of those people. The last time I trusted you, I became complicit in a massacre."

"The Jedi did not cause the massacre!"

"No. But we should never have been involved. We had no right to take sides in that fight. And we _did_ fight, for the government against a civilian resistance."

"I don't see what we could have done differently," Obi-Wan began, and stopped when he saw Ryn's wry smile.

"That was my point." She sighed. "The Jedi Order considers my people heretics, Obi-Wan. And if you thought your commitment to the Order demanded it, you would not hesitate to destroy us. It is better for everyone if you never get the chance."

"I find it difficult to believe that I could do much serious damage, if the Lorethans I have met so far are indicative of the general populace."

"We are not." Ryn sighed again and ran her hands through her hair, still damp with sweat from her training session. "I keep telling you, but you do not understand. We are the warrior class. We fight so that others do not have to. We shed our blood for our people. And our people are farmers and herdsmen."

"What about the Jade Temple?"

"What about it?" Ryn asked dully, staring at the floor.

"Surely you teach Force-enhanced combat techni -" He stopped at the look on Ryn's face.

"_No_," she said emphatically, eyes wide with horror. "Obi-Wan, that's - that's - the Temple is a place of peace. Even warriors must leave their weapons in the outer court."

"But then - where do you learn to fight with a lightsaber?"

Ryn frowned at him. "During training. With a foster family, usually."

"Foster family?"

"Ah ..." Ryn bit her lip, not in discomfort but in thought, her eyes drifting, unfocused, as she searched for the words. "The children of noble families are frequently fostered out for a few years. Before the isolation period, for girls; with boys, it depends. It strengthens the bonds between families."

Satine had said something similar once, but she referred to it as an ancient custom no longer practiced. "Oh. Were you ..."

Ryn nodded. She was proud; even without the Force, he could see it: in the way her eyes flashed, the way her shoulders lifted. "In the household of the High King."

Obi-Wan blinked. "That's ... quite prestigious, isn't it?"

Ryn nodded again. "It was a great honor."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I ... somehow I got the impression, from the way you speak of Loreth, and your upbringing ... that you were a bit of a minor noble, despite your brother's skill in battle."

"I am. Well ... no, not exactly. I should have been. It's complicated."

And that was undoubtedly true. Obi-Wan let it alone for the moment to pursue his original line of questioning. "Then why ..."

Ryn rubbed the bridge of her nose thoughtfully, tracing the edge of an almost-healed scratch. She had the general air of distraction that usually settled over her whenever Obi-Wan was being particularly persistent in his pursuit of anthropological knowledge: feeling her way through their linguistic differences patiently, but always with the fatalistic conviction that whatever she told him would be so distorted by the translation as to be untrue by the time he grasped it. "My parents had not made preparations for my fosterage," she said at last, heavily. "My brother Kit was struggling to raise me by himself when the High King stepped in and invited me into his home. It was a generous gesture." Something like a smile lit her eyes. "And those were good days. The airdh-righ and his family, they are ... good people."

"You miss them."

Ryn shrugged: not as though she were uncertain, but as if to say that it didn't matter.

Something tugged at the back of Obi-Wan's mind, something Ryn had said, ages ago it seemed ... "The High King didn't want you to come to the Jedi Temple."

Ryn hesitated, wary now. But she didn't lie to him. "No."

"Because he didn't want to lose you."

Ryn bit her lip and looked away. "It turned out all right."

"Did it?" Obi-Wan pressed her. "Are you happy on Coruscant?"

"I did not come to Coruscant to be happy." There was a little snap to her voice, and Obi-Wan realized he'd offended her.

He found himself nonplussed, caught flat-footed by her response. It wasn't as if, being a Jedi, he had any objection to her position. Jedi strove for fulfillment in service to the Force, not for personal victories. And yet ... Ryn _wasn't_ a Jedi. Had never claimed to be, or to share their ideals. What the Jedi found satisfying, she clearly felt as a sacrifice. It was _different_.

"I hope that you have not been _un_happy," he said finally.

Ryn offered a small, rueful smile. "Life on Coruscant has been a challenge. But I am not sorry I came."

Obi-Wan watched her closely. "You must be looking forward to seeing home again."

"I have missed it."

"Will you see your foster family, you think?"

Ryn's smile turned wry. "Depends on how much trouble we get into."

That didn't sound encouraging.

* * *

Feedback, squee, and concrit are all very welcome. :)


	42. Chapter 42

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Super-short chapter. Sorry about that, but finding good breaks in this part of the story is a killer. :(

**CHAPTER FORTY-TWO**

Of course, Evinne had to have an even worse idea. Somehow she had talked Obi-Wan into letting her and Ryn and Anakin go investigate the local culture on their own.

Ryn was pretty sure she didn't want to look too closely into that alchemy of persuasion - what was Obi-Wan thinking?

She kept her thoughts to herself as they hopped off the landing ramp to Obi-Wan's useless admonitions of caution. There was no need to point out to Evinne that the place they were entering was sure to be a rough town, as she doubtless already knew; and Anakin would only take her remarks as a challenge to prove himself tough enough to take it.

Evinne slung an arm around her shoulders as they headed into town. "Cheer up, Shorty. A jaunt into town will be just what you need. You can have a few drinks, let the local population remind you you're gorgeous ... it'll be healthy. Downright therapeutic."

Ryn retrieved her oversized dark glasses from her utility belt and slid them onto her face, even though it was nearly sunset. "Healthy is finding a machine shop and getting what we need so we can repair the dorsal turret," she said, not with much hope that anybody was listening.

The town that sprawled out from the spaceport - Darkwater, according to the signs - was ugly and dingy: a mismatched assortment of buildings thrown up with no discernible regard for aesthetic value.

Ryn shivered and shrank closer to Anakin before she could stop herself, as though he could somehow save her from the ugliness of this world. It was an irrational impulse, but once she realized what she'd done, she couldn't make herself pull away: not only because he was warm and strong and she was pathetically happy to be near him, but because how he would _notice_, if she tried to draw back. So she stayed with him, and tried to hide the way her skin tingled every time they jostled each other, walking close enough that their hands brushed at regular intervals, close enough that she could feel his energy radiating like heat from a furnace.

She resisted with difficult the urge to close her eyes and let that energy penetrate her and drive out the cold inside. It seemed strange, that after everything his presence should still feel as good to her as ever, but there he was, striding beside her like light and warmth and everything she'd ever wanted.

He sensed her scrutiny and sent her a quizzical smile, and Ryn felt the force of it everywhere.

* * *

One dingy Hutt town was much like another, so it wasn't especially difficult to locate a dirty section of town with a few junk shops sitting close enough together that the competition might drive the prices down a little.

Evinne seemed content to let him take the lead in the hunt for the right junk shop, but Ryn kept shooting him worried little glances and then trying to hide them. He was pretty sure her concern wasn't for his competence, which in machines, at least, she'd never questioned, but for his memories, which swarmed thick enough he was almost choking on them.

They weren't all bad.

He'd hated being a slave, but he hadn't hated the junk shop, even when he was so tired his bones ached. He had loved meeting the travelers who came through - not strangers, really, because Mom said he'd never met a stranger in his life and it was partly true - and he'd loved fixing broken things.

Half a step behind, Ryn touched him lightly on the shoulder. "I know. It's okay."

He flinched in surprise; it was the first time since their bond was severed that Ryn had answered his thoughts. "You -"

"I can hear you again, yeah. A little." She gave him a funny little half-smile. "It feels different, somehow."

"Is that - is that okay?"

Her smile made his stomach pitch. "Yeah, I think it is." She cocked her head to one side. "Can you hear me?"

Anakin settled the Force on her, let it whisper to him the cut of her soul.

Ryn sucked in a breath, and at first he thought he'd hurt her. But then behind her fluttering lashes he saw that wasn't pain in her eyes.

"Careful," she whispered, breathless, and he released her.

"I didn't think it would still do that."

"It always does that." And he knew she meant the _always_ to rupture the barriers between tenses and reach into their past and future.

_Always in motion ... No. Wherever the future takes us, I'm not going anywhere without Ryn._

She didn't reciprocate his brief touch, but he felt the warmth of her appreciation, like sunlight on his heart.

"Hey," Evinne said, interrupting as usual. "Is it just me, or does that shop have Hakkle written over the door?"

Anakin squinted at the Huttese symbols. "It does."

Evinne cocked her head at Ryn. "You think there are two Hakkles who run junk shops in the Outer Rim?"

"It's possible," Ryn said doubtfully.

"Should we check it out?"

"Yeah, I reckon."

Anakin had a sudden, unnerving _bad feeling_ about this.


	43. Chapter 43

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Warnings: Reprise of Dark!Ryn and some non-graphic torture.

**CHAPTER FORTY-THREE**

The bad feeling didn't get better when they strode into the shop: Evinne swaggering, Ryn no-nonsense, and Anakin trying to watch all directions at once.

"Hakkle." That was Evinne's voice, smooth and hard as a good whiskey, a casual display of power. "How have you been?"

A male Twi'lek with beady red eyes and grayish skin flinched behind the central counter. "Well enough, Aesin'Evinne Ardel. Can't complain, can't ... ah, and yourself?"

Evinne stuck out an elbow and knocked over a display of hydrospanners. "I'm feeling remarkably healthy, thank you." She picked up a piece of chrome fender and slammed it against the edge of the counter, hard enough to leave a decided dent, glanced at it, and then tossed it aside. "You may remember my associate, Areth'Ryn Orun."

Ryn's feral grin, teeth bared, boded no good.

"Ah ... yes," Hakkle said, licking his pointed teeth nervously. "Of course. Delightful. I'm -"

"And this is our friend Anakin Skywalker." Evinne sauntered closer. "He beat Sebulba in the Boonta Eve Classic six years ago." She leaned across the counter, apparently just to see Hakkle back up against the wall, cornered. "He's a Jedi now."

"Padawan," Ryn reminded her.

"Oh, that's right." Evinne shook her head in mock-concern. "He's still working on that whole non-violence thing." She dropped her voice to a throaty purr. "He's a _very_ bad boy."

"Don't get distracted," Ryn said.

"Aw, you're no fun," Evinne said, without a trace of repentance.

That was when two thugs started in from the yard door.

Ryn was all over them before they even crossed the threshold. One second she was standing next to Anakin, wound tight with restraint: the next, she was across the floor, snapping quick, sharp punches into a Gammorean's weak spots.

That left the Phlog for Anakin, and the Padawan wasn't quite sure what he'd gotten himself into here, but he threw the heavy alien lightly into the wall with a quick flicker from the Force.

Of course he was up again in a matter of seconds, but Ryn was already there. The Phlog surged to his feet, grabbing her by the crotch on the way up and hefting her into the air, presumably to perform some sort of particularly obscene body slam, but he never got the chance. Ryn, dangling in the air, snap-kicked from the knee and caught him just under the join of the ribs with the toe of one well-aimed boot.

He dropped her as he doubled over, and Ryn hit the ground in time to drive the heel of her hand under his jaw with enough force to lift him upright again.

Evinne, at the counter, was still pretending not to have noticed the commotion, but Hakkel was visibly quaking.

"Where is the boy?" the golden-haired warrior asked, conversationally.

"What b-"

Evinne grabbed him by the lekku and slammed his face into the counter-top.

"Where is the boy?"

She nodded over her shoulder to Ryn, who straightened from her adventures with the Phlog and drove the butt-end of her lightsaber hilt into a display, smashing parts and sending them flying to the floor in a shatter of chrome that flashed in the sunset gleam streaming in through the windows.

"Where is the boy?"

"I don't know!"

Ryn vaulted the counter and began ripping out drawers and throwing their contents.

Anakin finally found his voice. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "We came here to trade for parts, not to terrorize innocent shopkeepers!"

Ryn shook her head at him and kept going. Evinne, still holding Hakkel's face pressed into the filthy counter-top, said grimly, "Tell him how innocent you are, Hakkel." She twisted his lekku for good measure, and the Twi'lek groaned a protest. "No? Then I'll tell him for you." She glanced over her shoulder at Anakin, still holding Hakkel down with both hands. "He helped Sebulba rig half a dozen races on Malastare," she ground out. Evinne was never exactly prone to displaying the softer emotions, but there was a durasteel in her voice now that Anakin had never heard before, a naked anger that stripped her power bare, no septsilk covering of civility. "His slave boy helped us catch Sebulba, and _this_ poodoo -" she slammed Hakkel's face again, viciously, ignoring his plea for mercy "- beat that kid within an inch of his life. Scarred his face, too." She kicked out with one booted foot and upset another display. "We couldn't do anything for him at the time because we were working for LorEng and other lives depended on us, but we're free agents now." She glanced over at Ryn. "Time for a little straight-up Lorethan justice."

"Got it," Ryn cut in, straightening from a row of drawers. She held up a device that Anakin recognized instantly: he had to fight off a wave of nausea before he could look again.

_"Where is the boy?"_ Evinne yelled, saturing the Force with her fury like blood. She lifted the Twi'lek's head to smash his bloody face again, and Anakin ...

... leapt forward and threw his arms around her, hauling her back.

"No!" he panted, struggling. Evinne twisted in his grip, but he had her arms pinned to her sides, and he was stronger. "We don't have to hurt him. There is another way."

"We _want_ to hurt him," Evinne snarled, still writhing. He had the distinct impression she was doing that part just to torture him.

"It is not the Jedi way," Anakin said firmly, even though Evinne wasn't a Jedi.

It worked anyway; Evinne went slack in his arms, and wriggled around to face him almost before he cold remember to move his hands to her shoulders.

"Fine," she said roughly. "How do _you_ want to play it?"

It took him a couple of tries - Evinne's treatment certainly hand't helped to make him more pliant - but Anakin succeeded in pulling a Jedi mind trick on Hakkel.

Which revealed only that the Twi'lek really didn't know where the boy was.

Evinne put her mouth against Anakin's ear - she took the opportunity to do a little mild groping, too, reaching around his body from behind to flatten her hands against his chest and pull him suggestively closer (it occurred to him that all the sex with Makesh might be turning her head) - and whispered, "Broaden the question. Where would he go?"

This new line of questioning resulted in a list of clubs whose names meant nothing to Anakin but that Evinne identified, in one pungent phrase, as being houses of ill-repute.

"We'll check it out," Evinne said, clapping Anakin on the shoulder. "Good work, Skywalker."

She nodded at Ryn, who shoved the transmitter into her belt, yanked a piece of rebar free of the wall -

_That looks like structural damage._

- and performed an impressively focused feat of destruction on the cash register.

She took the rebar with her when they walked out, twirling it like a baton, moving with a wild animal grace he'd never seen her unleash before, falling effortlessly into step beside Evinne's swaggering, showy sensuality: an unmatched but deadly pair.

The Force raged through them like a drug, potent with violent lust.


	44. Chapter 44

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: I've recently learned that only about half of my review replies are getting sent! I'm not sure what the problem is, since I reply to each and every review (I promise!), but please know that I appreciate every review I get and I am always thrilled to hear from readers! If you sent a review and did not receive a reply, please accept my apologies. (Like Han, "it's not my fault!") I hope that ffn gets this issue fixed soon but until then ... please don't stop reviewing! I would miss your comments dreadfully!

**CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR**

They had to try two sleazy bars and one rival chop shop before they found the boy they were looking for. Anakin thought about pointing out that they were running on time borrowed from the hoped-for repairs, but if they were intent on helping this slave boy ... how could he argue with that? How many days had he dreamed of freeing the slaves on Tatooine?

How many nights had he dreamed there would be someone to save _him_?

How could he begrudge Ryn and Evinne this one boy, their impulse to do some good where they could?

Besides ... they spoke of him as a friend, who needed their help.

So they would help him.

* * *

They finally found him in a seedy would-be dance club just behind a defunct Podracing circuit with no pretensions to legality. The bouncer let them in, probably because of the way the two girls were clinging to each other as they sauntered up to the entrance. Evinne was definitely taking advantage of the situation to explore the finer points of Ryn's physique, but Anakin figured the younger girl was capable of making her feelings known if she wanted her to back off - he was _trying_ to learn from his mistakes, and not repeat the same jealousy that had hurt her with Ferus and Revin and Imram, surely everybody had to learn sometime - so he kept his mouth shut.

Inside the club, the death stick smoke was thick and the lights were flickering, only some of them rhythmically. They shouldered their way in and tried to scan the crowd, not that Anakin was much use, as he'd never seen the person they were looking for.

"There!" Evinne yelled suddenly, over the pounding music. "That's him, on the platform!"

On a table - graced by a pole; what sort of establishment was this? - a young man about Ferus's age was dancing in time to the music, a heavy beat overlaid with lyrics that urged dancers to remove their clothing.

Anakin's first impression of the boy was that he was _pretty_. Not handsome, not good-looking, but _pretty_. Chiseled features, messy dark hair dangling into big dark eyes: a taut physique he hadn't gotten just working in a junk shop. The only detriment was a vicious red scar that ran under his left cheekbone and disappeared into the fringe of his hair.

The boy was leaving his own clothes on, not that they hid much to begin with, but Anakin suspected the leather pants would be a chore to remove in any case. More trouble than it was worth.

"Engine!" Ryn shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth to project. "_Engine_!"

Anakin stared. "His name is _Engine_?"

"I have no idea." She raised her hands to her mouth to try again, but Evinne stopped her. "He can't hear you. Wait here."

She left them standing not far inside the club, working her way through the crowd with dedication and athleticism, groping and being groped with apparent relish.

"She's not shy," Anakin observed to Ryn, because it was painfully awkward to watch Evinne's antics in silence and he couldn't keep up the pretense of being not-shocked any longer.

"No," Ryn said, accepting this. "Look!"

Evinne had found the boy - _Engine_ - but instead of trying to coax him down from his mini-stage, she had joined him, and now they were trailing their hands down each other's bodies with heated enthusiasm, while Evinne circled her admittedly impressive hips with no regard - or perhaps _too much_ - for the onlookers.

"They got friendly fast," Anakin said, trying to get back his critical distance.

"Evinne is on intimate terms with everyone," Ryn said, her voice faintly tinted with an unexpected edge of sarcasm.

He wanted to ask Ryn what that meant, but he was distracted from his question because Evinne turned and beckoned them to join her in the middle of the dance floor.

Ryn sighed; Anakin couldn't hear it, over the music, but he could see the shift in her shoulders. "She also likes a party."

She moved off, weaving her way through the throng of dancers with a lot more subtlety than Evinne had used, as graceful as if she were dancing herself. Anakin trailed after her, trying to be mindful of his surroundings and to remember that Ryn was perfectly capable of taking out any three men in this joint, so there was absolutely _no vaping reason_ for him to smash that guy's hand just because he'd _grabbed her ass_ ...

It took more self-control than he'd ever thought he had, but he managed to keep from beating any of the offenders into a plump on his way across the floor. Obi-Wan would have been proud, if Anakin had had any business in the dive in the first place.

The music downshifted as they reached the platform, moving to a slow, heavy beat with less vocals. The revelers around them took the opportunity to begin pairing off, clinging to each other with the breathless relief of eager and intoxicated beings whose agitation has finally been given the opportunity to settle its focus. Evinne hopped down from her platform, followed by the boy, who immediately reached for Ryn and embraced her with a lot more intimacy than the situation seemed to require, flattening his hands across his back as though trying to imprint her shape on his senses.

"Areth'ryn!" he murmured thickly, burying his face in her hair. "So good to see you! How did you find me?"

Ryn glanced sidelong at Evinne, plainly unhappy with her companion's lethargy in getting to the point. "We beat it out of Hakkle," she said shortly. "Engine -"

"What?" the boy said, his face paling under the multicolored lights. "_No_. I can't go back to him after -"

Ryn disengaged from his embrace and pulled the transmitter wand from her belt, holding it up so that it flashed the same color's as Engine's blanched face.

The boy was not reassured. "Put that thing down!"

Puzzled, her almost-smile fading, Ryn tucked the wand back into her belt.

She stared at him wordlessly, waiting, until finally Engine gave up, licked his lips nervously, and said, "Outside."

The two girls shrugged in unison and turned for the exit. Anakin moved to follow, but he hadn't gone more than two steps when a burly hand reached past him and caught Engine by the shoulder.

The boy spun, his fear rank in the Force, but it was beyond obvious that he didn't have a defense against the beating that was about to come.

Anakin whipped to his right, blocking Engine with his body, and sized up the interloper: a Phlog again.

"Don't you people have any imagination?" he inquired of no one in particular.

"Get out of way," the Phlog rumbled at him. "You not my concern."

But Engine was Ryn's friend. He'd seen the way she'd smiled at him, so relieved to find him all right.

He'd seen the way he touched her, too, and he was trying to ignore how far beyond _friendly_ that had looked, because he _trusted_ Ryn, she wouldn't hide something like that from him, she would have said something, he believed in her.

Really.

But it was bothering him enough to put an edge in his voice when he said, "I am now."

The Phlog growled and made to swat him aside, but Anakin was too fast for him. By the time the Phlog's fist got to where Anakin should have been, Anakin was somewhere else, and his boot was already driving under the Phlog's ribs - the classic move with Phlogs, which was probably why it had worked so well on that thug in Hakkle's shop earlier.

And then Ryn fisted a hand in his shirt and jerked him backward, and the four of them were moving for the door.

The fight streamed out after them, though Anakin was never really sure afterward whether the Phlog had had a lot of friends or beating up some strangers just seemed like cheap entertainment. He learned, much to his disgust, that Engine wasn't nearly as much a fighter as he was a dancer. He took it on himself to protect the older boy (now bleeding from a split lip he'd gotten somewhere along the way) while Ryn and Evinne went on a thrashing spree, unloading on thugs with undisguised enthusiasm.

When the last fools finally got wise and started crawling away instead of crawling to their feet, Evinne let out a throaty shout of triumph, wrapped her hand around the back of Ryn's neck, and dragged the younger girl in for a kiss.

Anakin, who had been about to suggest that they get out while the getting was good, strangled on own words.

Engine elbowed him in the ribs. "Shh!" he hissed. "You want them to stop?"

Ryn pulled free of the kiss to protest, "I think you're scaring the boys."

"Do 'em good," Evinne muttered, reclaiming Ryn's mouth with a breathy little moan that was part satisfaction, part need. She ran her hands up under Ryn's _PODRACERS DO IT BETTER_ shirt and skimmed it over her head - both of them gasping a little at the ragged break in the kiss - high enough to trap Ryn's arms at the elbow, laughing into her mouth as they came together again.

Presumably powerless, Ryn took control, catching the beat of the music still throbbing away inside the club and writhing with it, a sinuous dance that invited participation.

"Oh," said Engine. He sounded stunned. "That's ... really different."

He meant Ryn.

"You're not kidding," Anakin said. _This is new._ He walked forward and pulled them apart by the shoulders. "You think maybe we should get out of here?"

Evinne grinned up at him. "Jealous?"

Ryn had the grace to look abashed. "He's right," she said abruptly, hauling her shirt back down over her bandeau. "We have things to do."

"I was trying to do one of them," Evinne grumbled, but Ryn just rolled her eyes and picked up the section of rebar she'd dropped in the fight.

"Let's go."


	45. Chapter 45

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: I struggled with this chapter, floundered for a few days, rewrote it several times, and finally pleaded from help. Kelaria answered the call and beta'ed for me, for which I owe her big time. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault. And in the end, I'm still not sure that the chapter "works." But it is what it is, and it's here for the reading, so I guess you can make up your own minds about the final product. I welcome both happy feedback and concrit.

**CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE**

Engine led the way down the street and hustled them down an alley and up a rusty drain. Crouched precariously in a fold of the roof between uneven peaks, the four of them surveyed each other.

Ryn took a deep breath and said, "Engine, man, tell."

"Right." Engine furrowed his overly-pretty brow. "Look, it's like ... after that shit went down with Sebulba, and he got yanked from the competition, Hakkel came down hard on me." He glanced at Evinne. "You know." She nodded. "But after the dust settled, there were death threats from Sebulba's crew. They weren't actually going to kill me while I belonged to Hakkel, because they thought he could pull off some of the same poodoo again and so he was still useful to them, but I was pretty close to earning my freedom, remember, and some of that gang let me know just what would happen if I did." He dragged a sleeve across his sweaty face. "Not that it will ever happen now, anyway. Hakkel's started renting me out nights, to earn back what he lost. Sometimes it's just dancing, seeing how many credits a crowd of drunks will stuff in my pants. Sometimes it's ... more. And I don't get to keep any." He glanced at Anakin. "That Phlog you kicked watches. It must be some kind of deal, but I don't know what his take is. Anyway. I _can't_ be free, because those vaping _thugs_ -"

"Hush," Ryn said, resting a hand on his leather-clad thigh. "You're coming with us."

"He is?" said Anakin and Evinne together.

"Can't leave him here," Ryn reasoned. "But ... listen, Engine: does Hakkel have anything that could repair the dorsal turret for a YT 1300 Corellian freighter?"

Engine frowned. "Maybe, if you had a mechanic good enough to mod it for an older model. But I don't -"

"If you've got the parts, we've got the skill," Ryn said. She twisted to look at Anakin. "Right?"

Her confidence in him was flattering, but ... "Probably," Anakin said. "But I'm going to need tools."

"Okay," Evinne said. "So here's the plan." She started checking items off on her fingers. "We deactivate the AED. We destroy the wand so it can't be reactivated again before we get offworld. We crash Hakkel's place again so you can get whatever you want to take an we can pick up the parts for the dorsal turret. Then we hotwire whatever transport Hakkel's got sitting around and make tracks for our own ship." She looked around. "Sound good?"

"We might have some trouble getting offworld, depending on how serious the muscle is," Ryn cautioned. "That's not good news for repairs."

"You have a countersuggestion?"

"Not even close."

"Then stop being such a wet blanket. You give me hives."

Anakin managed not to point out that if Ryn gave her hives, maybe sucking face hadn't been such a great idea.

It seemed petty, under the circumstances.

They ran for Hakkel's over the rooftops, to avoid any of the thug bands Engine warned them would be out tonight ... and maybe a little just because they could.

Dropped into the yard behind Hakkel's shopp easily, three of them absolutely silent and one with a soft grunt at landing, having neither the Force nor Lorethan conditioning to soften the fall.

Evinne booted her way through the door and dodged in under a hail of blasterfire: took out both Hakkel and his Gammorean thug in five seconds flat, without her lightsaber. The Phlog was nowhere to be seen.

"Come on!" she shouted, and Engine dashed to gather his meagre belongs while Ryn and Anakin started kicking over the junkyard for what they needed.

There were so many things he needed to ask Ryn, they crowded one another out. Anakin searched through piles of parts, tongue-tied, and let Ryn help him in silence.

She felt strange in the Force: aroused, in the truest sense of the word: hyperalert, charged with energy, practically wild with release.

She didn't have Evinne's abandon, but she was ... intense.

Driven.

They worked in silence, and Anakin tried not to read too much into the fact that she wasn't talking to him. It wasn't like Ryn had ever been especially chatty anyway: an awful lot of their conversations had consisted of Anakin talking while Ryn laughed or rolled her eyes at the right moments.

That would have been fine, except that now Anakin couldn't think of anything to say. Or he could, but it was all questions, questions he wasn't sure he had a right to ask.

"You're staring," she said finally, when they were loading their hoard of parts into the back of a rusty landspeeder Anakin was pretty sure he could hotwire.

Anakin blushed, caught, and dropped his eyes. "Sorry."

Ryn nodded, accepting his apology. "I was thinking maybe you had a reason," she prompted awkwardly.

_In other words: Spit it out, Skywalker._

"You and Evinne," he began, equally awkward. "I didn't know you were ... like that."

"Huh," said Ryn, shoving some turret gun components farther into the vehicle with a thrust of her hip. "Like what?"

He blushed. "You know. _Intimate_."

"I told you, Evinne is on intimate terms with everybody." She sounded vaguely irritated by that. Paused, to push an escaped strand of dark hair back behind her ear and huff out a frustrated breath. "But I wouldn't say we're particularly close."

"You were kissing her," Anakin pointed out. It seemed relevant.

Ryn frowned. "Is that what's bothering you?"

"Well, no. I mean, kind of. I mean ... you never told me you liked girls."

Ryn tilted her head to one side, considering. "I never really thought about it before," she said at last, slowly. "It never came up."

"What do you mean, you _never thought about it_?" Anakin demanded. "How could you not _know_?"

Ryn blushed fiercely and lowered her gaze. "You know why," she said softly, glancing up at him through her unruly lashes.

It took a minute for him to realize what she meant, and then he felt like a heel for making her say it. It had been so long since he'd thought of her that way that he'd practically forgotten how they'd first become friends: thrown together by Obi-Wan's scientific interest in Ryn's sudden desire, his quest to learn what had triggered these feelings she claimed never to have experienced before ...

_Before she met _me_. Vape it._

He could feel Ryn's humiliation, rising with a vengeance, swamping the lingering excitement of the evening's adventures.

_Oh, Ryn. _

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm an idiot. I shouldn't have asked."

Ryn shrugged, but her discomfort still permeated the Force. "Don't worry about it."

"You always let me off the hook," Anakin said. "And I don't deserve it."

"If you deserved it, it wouldn't be letting you off the hook," Ryn said, grinning a little in spite of herself. "Besides, you do the same for me."

"_You_ don't walk around with one foot in your mouth all the time," Anakin countered, settling the last of the parts into the landspeeder and slamming the door.

"But you're kind enough to ignore how badly I want you," Ryn said. Her voice had that curious toneless quality he'd come to recognize as her trying too hard to sound neutral. "I figure that makes up for a lot of faults."

"Well, you can't help it." Then he realized how that sounded and felt his face heat. "I mean, not that you - that anyone would - uh." He took a breath. "I just meant that we can't help how we feel. That's all."

"I know what you meant," Ryn answered, amused. She stretched up a little to kiss him on the cheek. "You're a good friend, Anakin Skywalker."

Warmed by her praise but not quite knowing what to do with it, Anakin blushed again and went to have a look under the hood.


	46. Chapter 46

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER FORTY-SIX**

Ryn wasn't particularly surprised to find Evinne and Engine making out in the junk shop's back room, but she wasn't exactly encouraged by it, either.

Mentally thanking her stars that Anakin was still out front, trying to hotwire the landspeeder - they could probably have gotten the keys from Hakkel without any great difficulty, considering the amount of damage they'd already proven they could do to his shop and person, but Anakin seemed to be enjoying his time with the machine, so Ryn had kept her mouth shut about it thus far - she cleared her throat and said, "Not to break up the party, but I thought we might want to get back to the ship some time tonight."

Evinne drew her hand out of Engine's pants with a sigh of regret; Engine bucked once and whimpered before subsiding. Ryn ignored this, having learned from experience the special embarrassment that comes from being publicly unfulfilled. No one deserved that kind of shame: so deeply personal, so ruthlessly exposed.

"I suppose you're right," Evinne conceded, giving Engine one last, authoritative kiss before pulling away to stand up. She wiped at the corners of her mouth, self-possessed in a way Ryn would never be able to manage. "Has Skywalker got a transport running yet?"

"He will have, by the time we get out there," Ryn said. _I hope._ "And I don't think we'd better waste time, just in case Hakkel has friends and they like to fight."

"Point taken," Evinne said, politely not watching as Engine fumbled his pants together with a hiss of discomfort.

Ryn was able to resist peeking only by reminding herself that Engine had probably had a lifetime's worth of women gawking.

But she didn't blame Evinne for trying to get her hands on him, earlier.

_This is what happens when a culture runs short of men,_ she thought critically. _Everybody's wild for a penis._

It wasn't fair, but it was true.

"Ready?" she said, when the small rustlings that accompanied the boy's re-redressing had faded away.

"Yeah." There was still an edge of strain in his voice that betrayed how close to the edge he'd been.

She took her eyes off the wall, glanced once at the bulge in his pants before she could stop herself, and jerked her mind sharply back on track. "Grab your things," she said shortly. "Let's move out."

On their way out to the speeder, Evinne pressed a small, flimsi-wrapped package into her hands.

"What's this?" Ryn asked, mystified.

"Shh!" Evinne cautioned. "_Protection_. Engine had a bunch of them. I thought if you wanted to ... do something ... they might come in handy."

_Not kriffing likely,_ Ryn thought, remembering Anakin's lack of interest in her and her own lack of interest in anyone else.

On the other hand, if he was mostly worried about getting her pregnant ...

"Uh," she said aloud. "Thanks."

* * *

The landspeeder was crowded with the four of them and the supplies. Evinne ended up sitting on Engine's lap and Ryn squeezed in between them and Anakin in the front seat, getting an elbow in the stomach every time he shifted gears. And besides the general discomfort of being in such a cramped space, it was hard to ignore the heated flutter of feelings leaking out of Evinne and Engine.

She shifted, trying to relieve some of the pressure she was feeling down low, or at least find a position in which the ache didn't drive her crazy.

Anakin shot her a worried look.

"You okay?" he asked her, sotto voce.

Ryn shifted again, this time to sit on her hands so she couldn't reach for him.

"It's not much farther," he encouraged her, as though getting back to the ship were going to fix everything.

Ryn just nodded. She was about to try and formulate some kind of response that could reassure him when Anakin sucked in a sharp breath and wrenched at the controls so that the speeder flailed back and forth across the landscape.

Red stitches of blaster fire punctuated the air around them.

"Not good," Evinne snapped, tossing Ryn her spare blaster as they both twisted back to look.

"We can't outrun them," Ryn said quickly to Anakin. "They've got swoop bikes and a D430. Just try and get me a clear shot."

"I'll do my best," Anakin gritted.

There was a canyon wall on their left and Anakin took it, running the landspeeder so close that Ryn doubted whether she could have put her hand between the speeder's rusty body and the rock face. The swoop who'd been gaining on that side swerved suddenly to avoid a gristly fate, and as he passed behind them Ryn fired straight into his motor, twice, and saw it blossom into sudden flame.

Anakin swerved right to miss an outcrop, so hard Ryn almost lost hold of her blaster. She cursed as her head smacked against the landspeeder's canopy, and her shot went wild.

Evinne was stretched across Engine's lap, hanging out of the landspeeder and firing off shots in rapid succession. She wasn't scoring many hits, but that wasn't the point; she was trying to keep their pursuers too busy to shoot back while Ryn picked them off.

It wasn't what you might call a _plan_, but so far it was keeping them alive.

Ryn fired again, into the hood of the sleek D430 as it zoomed up from behind to ram them. The metal shell holed, but nothing happened; she hadn't hit anything essential. _Great._ She gritted her teeth and held the gun against Anakin's wild fishtailing to fire a spread of shots into the hood, a Circle-Crossbar pattern that was used whenever you didn't know what an enemy's weak spots were and a wound wasn't going to be enough.

The D430 choked and died, its driver pounding his fists against the control board in frustration.

"Nice!" Evinne shouted as their own speeder shot ahead. She fired at the swoop bike coming up on her side. "Skywalker, you're all clear! Let's go!"

Anakin opened the throttle and they burned up the night, streaking a series of blaster bolts in their wake.

* * *

A/N: I never could decide whether the "flimsi-wrapped package" was too jarring, as from the events of ROTS it would seem that such things are not canon for the GFFA. In the end I left it where it was ... but I don't promise not to change my mind if that gets too confusing ...


	47. Chapter 47

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN**

Evinne dragged Engine out of the landspeeder with her, already sprinting for the hatch as Anakin shut off the motor and Ryn started dragging things out onto the ground.

She pounded her fist against the metal plate with the kind of resounding thuds that suggested she'd have bruises later. "Open up! Kenobi, Aravel? Open the hatch!"

Makesh lowered the ramp so quickly Evinne had to jump out of the way. He looked out at them, taking in the scene with characteristic unflappability. He said nothing, but looked at her and waited patiently for an explanation.

Evinne could feel herself blushing. It wasn't often she lost her cool. "We ... uh ... ran into an old friend."

Makesh nodded, his eyes watchful.

"We couldn't leave him there," Evinne explained.

Makesh nodded again.

"He was a slave."

Makesh gave her that same nod again, an economical gesture of acknowledgement. Ryn, for some reason, did the same thing, often enough for it to be a recognizable habit, and Evinne was struck suddenly by the thought that they might both have picked it up from Kit.

It was harder not to think of him lately, on her way to play hero and charge to his rescue.

And then, probably, be forgotten.

_I so don't need this,_ Evinne, and then she shoved that aside because, really, it wasn't about what _she_ needed. Right now it was all about Kit.

Makesh was still watching her, waiting patiently for an explanation.

"We need to load the ship," Evinne said.

"Looks like Skywalker and Orun have got it covered," Makesh observed, shifting to one side as Ryn stalked up the ramp carrying the first load.

"Right," Evinne said. "And then we probably need to take off in a hurry."

"All right."

The man was maddening. "So you should probably go warn Kenobi," she prompted, exasperated.

"Fine," Makesh bit out, his lips tight, and stalked back inside.

"What's with him?" Skywalker said, on his way back out of the ship to get another load.

"Jealousy," Orun said, jumping off the ramp to do the same. The dark-haired girl hadn't received quite the release she'd needed - and Evinne was blaming Skywalker for that - but at least their adventures had loosened her up a little.

It hadn't made her any logic less baffling, however.

"Jealousy?" Evinne repeated, trailing after her to pick up some goods of her own. "No. Why would he be jealous?"

"Maybe because you've been having sex with him and then tonight you showed up reeking of some other guy."

"But that's just sex!" Evinne protested, following her up the ramp.

"With Engine, or Makesh?"

"Both!"

Ryn shoved a blaster rifle out of the way with her foot. "Do they know that?"

"Of course they do!"

Ryn set down her burden with a grunt and glanced over her shoulder at Evinne. "Did you tell them so?"

"Look," Evinne said, temper flaring because what was _wrong_, what was really bothering Makesh? "I do not need relationship advice from a _desperate virgin_ who can't bring a man up to the task when she _already has him in bed_."

Ryn's face closed like a door slamming. "Fine," she bit out, so much like Makesh, and started for the hatch. "Work it out for yourself, then."

"And for my next trick," Evinne told the nearest crate disgustedly, "I will try wounding puppies. It'd be harder." She kicked the crate for good measure, nearly broke her toe in the process, and hopped around the entry, clutching her injured foot and cursing viciously.

"_Vape it,_" she said finally, with feeling. "I'm such a vaping _waste_."

Skywalker appeared in the open hatch and nudged her aside with a piece of cannon. "What now?"

"I'm going to start kicking puppies."

Skywalker scowled at her. "Haven't you done enough damage for one day?"

"_Yes_," Evinne said, hopping in a circle to track his progress. "_Stang_ it. Does no one appreciate sarcasm any more?"

More scowling. "Is that what you did to Ryn?"

"What? No!" Evinne put her foot down and flexed it experimentally, wincing. "I told her I didn't need relationship advice from a desperate virgin who can't get laid."

"You _what_?" Skywalker demanded, outraged. "What kind of friend are you?"

Evinne sighed. "A bad one, apparently."

"I don't -" Skywalker began, still fuming, but running footsteps interrupted his train of thought and then Makesh stuck his head through the inner hatchway. "We've got Lorethan Command on the comm," he reported sharply. "Where's Orun?"


	48. Chapter 48

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT**

Anakin should have been starting the repairs, but he trailed Ryn to the cockpit instead.

"Orun here," she said smartly, her consonants clear and sharp enough to cut glass.

"Areth'ryn," said a male voice at the other of the comm. "What in the galaxy have you been doing? When word reached my father that you had _disappeared_ from Coruscant -"

Ryn's face registered disbelief. "_Sarta?_" she said. "No, I haven't disappeared from anywhere. I'm with the Jedi right now. But why are _you_ answering our comm?"

The voice at the other end sighed. "Because I promised your brother I would take care of you."

"Take care of _me_?" Ryn said, outraged. "Why don't you take care of _him_? The messengers said he was MIA."

"He _is_ MIA," the voice - presumably Sarta - said. "Ryn, don't come back here. It's too dangerous. I tried to keep them from sending anyone, but Ardel insisted. But I can't - there are forces at work here. You're safer on Coruscant."

"That's encouraging," Ryn said. "_He's my brother_, Sarta. And this criminal the Jedi are pursuing may be involved in his disappearance. So that's _two_ good reasons to come home."

"Ryn," said Sarta. He sounded miserable. "_M'anam_, Kit is presumed dead. You can't help him. Stay out of this mess."

"I can't," Ryn said. "The Jedi have asked for my help. And Kit is alive, I can feel it."

"Ask about Ardel," Anakin said.

"Over the open comm?" Ryn demanded "Please tell me you're kidding."

"Ardel?" said Sarta, staticky and suspicious. "Which one? Who's that with you?"

"Padawan Skywalker," Ryn said. "Er. Is with me. Later for Ardel."

"Skywalker?" the voice said, suddenly wary. "Is that the boy Kit was -"

"Yes," Ryn interrupted, and ignored Anakin's raised eyebrows. "You can meet him if we get our landing clearance. Which we need to pursue a dangerous criminal."

Sarta sighed, producing a burst of static so loud it made even Obi-Wan wince. (Makesh remained unmoved.) "Are you serious about this boy?"

"No, I invented him as part of an elaborate hoax," Ryn said, sarcastic in exasperation. "Now, about our _landing clearance_ -"

"You're pursuing a dangerous criminal, yes, I know," Sarta said. "Does he have a name?"

"Several, I think," Ryn said.

"Huh. And this boy of yours -"

"Not mine," Ryn said hastily.

"Areth'ryn?"

"Sarta?"

"Are you being careful?"

Ryn grinned at the comm unit. "Not even a little."

"Oh, good. Because a little more flippancy was just what your personality needed." He sighed again, in another small explosion of static. "Well. Bring your Jedi boy on home and I'll see -"

"What?" Ryn said, losing her smirk. "No. Sarta, it's not like that, I swear. We're just friends. There's nothing ... you don't need to test his fitness."

_Fitness?_ Anakin mouthed at her, and Ryn made shushing motions at him.

"I'll be the judge of that," Sarta answered grandly. "Besides. I thought you wanted clearance to bring strangers in-system."

"Well ... I do. I just -"

"Then don't argue. Just bring the boy, and -"

"Sarta, I _have_ to bring him with me, he's on my ship, he's the one who's going to _fix_ our ship. We hope. But he has a _name_, for heaven's sake, he's not 'the boy'. And there is _nothing going on_!"

"Better not be," Sarta said cheerfully. "Bring him anyway."

Ryn snarled something in Lorethan and cut the comm.

"That went well," Obi-Wan observed drily. "I gather Sarta is someone you know rather well?"

"Yeah," Ryn said, rubbing her forehead with a grimace. "My foster-brother. Older."

"He certainly seems concerned for you."

"That too," Ryn said.

"Hmp," said Evinne, sounding uncannily like Yoda. "I bet he wants to take a look at the competition."

"What?" Ryn said, alarmed. "No! There is no competition. We were never, you know, like that."

"Well, obviously," Evinne said, enjoying Ryn's discomfort. "That must be why he asked you to marry him."

Anakin was about to ask why the hell nobody had mentioned this potential suitor before, but he was forestalled by Ryn's insistence.

"That wasn't romance," she said gloomily. "It was all just jockeying for position."

"Sounded pretty romantic to me," Evinne said. "Handsome prince offering to spare a noble lady her tragic fate? If that were a holonovel, I'd watch it."

Ryn glared at her. "That _is_ a holonovel. And my fate wasn't tragic, just inconvenient."

She was about to say something else, but Obi-Wan interrupted her. "Am I gathering that you have some sort of prior relationship with this man?"

"He's my foster-brother," Ryn said, sticking to her original story with commendable determination.

"Who asked you to marry him," Evinne put in. "As details go, that one's pretty important."

"Oh, please," Ryn said, exasperated again. "It was a last-ditch effort to undermine the mission to Coruscant while pacifying Clan Orun, and you know it."

"Doesn't mean he's not a catch," Evinne said, unperturbably practical. "That man has it where it counts."

It was lucky for Evinne that looks couldn't kill.

"Excellent," said Obi-wan. "Now. Perhaps you'd like to tell me what happened in town? Because we seem to have picked up an addition to our party."

"Right," said Evinne, and looked at Ryn, who stifled a sigh and stood up.

"Master Kenobi, this is -" she turned to Engine "- what _is_ your real name?"

"I don't know," the boy admitted, coloring.

"All right. Well, then, this is Engine. He's an old friend. Engine, this is Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is Makesh Aravel the Disinherited. And of course you've already met Anakin, but he is Master Kenobi's apprentice."

Engine bowed politely to each of them in turn.

"Pleased to meet you," Obi-Wan said. "But I must confess to some concern about our travel arrangements."

Ryn wrapped her arms around Engine's waist, leaning possessively into his shoulder. Her eyes defied Obi-Wan to make any objections. "We'll be fine. It's not that much farther to Loreth; we can make do."

"I don't want to get in the way," Engine said.

"You won't." Ryn gave him a squeeze. "Come on, let's get you settled." She tugged gently, guiding him through the hatch and down the corridor to their sleeping quarters.

"Well," said Obi-Wan.

"Don't worry so much," Evinne told him. "Engine's a good guy to have around. And his life was in danger. We couldn't have left there. We'll take him as far as Fjornel and he can make his own way from there."

"Speaking of Fjornel," Obi-Wan said. "I suppose we'll reach there soon?"

"Yeah," said Evinne. "We can leave as soon as repairs are done. But we'd better hole up somewhere to do them. Makesh -"

"I'll get us out of sight."


	49. Chapter 49

Disclaimer: George Lucas own Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER FORTY-NINE**

Ryn clambered up the hull to the dorsal turret a couple of hours later, clutching a canteen in one hand and looking determined. "Hey."

"Hey," Anakin said, warily. He wasn't sure he liked her air of resolve.

It had a way of presaging traumatic separations, difficult conversations, and other unpleasant by-roads in his life lately.

"After that interview with Sarta, I figured we should talk."

That didn't sound good.

Anakin took the canteen she offered him and unscrewed the cap. "If this is another talk about how we're not having sex, I have to tell you, that's getting old."

Ryn laughed as she lowered herself to sit on the sun-heated metal of the hull, bare legs dangling over the side. "Actually, I came up to warn you."

"That's reassuring," Anakin said, tilting his head back to drink.

Ryn snorted. "I could just let you walk into it," she pointed out. "More laughs for me."

Anakin finished drinking before he answered, pulling down long swallows of the cool water with his face tipped to the sky, eyes closed against the morning sun. "I have a bad feeling about this," he said finally, lowering his face and holding out the canteen.

"Huh?" Ryn said dazedly. She was staring straight at him, but her eyes were wide and unfocused, the pupils huge.

_What now?_ He reached into the Force to find out what was the matter with her and found only, embarrassingly, the heat of desire, suffusing her from within.

_Oh_.

Anakin waved the canteen in front of her face. "Ryn. Hey. Reality to Orun ..."

She blinked slowly, shook herself. Reached for the canteen. "Sorry, what?"

_Vape it. I should want her. This shouldn't be so hard. What is _wrong_ with me?_ It would be so easy to make Ryn happy. She wanted such simple things.

They were things he couldn't give her - had no right to give her, if he was going to be a Jedi. With an effort, and a wrench of guilt for Ryn's unspoken longing - she tried so hard to hide it - he said, "You were about to give me a dire warning."

"Oh. Right." Ryn drew a deep breath, tried to center herself. He could tell the effort wasn't entirely successful, but at least she did manage to regain her focus. "About Lorethan women."

Anakin pinched her bare ankle - where were her boots? - trying to coax a smile. "Little late for that, isn't it?"

"Not for this, it isn't." Ryn's fingers clenched into fists. "Do you remember when I told you that adult Lorethans are overwhelmingly female?"

Anakin nodded, sobering. "You lost so many men in the war."

"Wars, really. But yes." Ryn dragged in another breath. Held it for a second before letting it out. "I don't think you can imagine what that does to a culture. The sheer aura of desperation that permeates gender relations. Especially for a culture that has traditionally enshrined sex as a semi-sacred act."

"Sacred?" Anakin repeated skeptically.

Ryn shook her head. "I never finished my training, so I don't think I can explain it to you. Just ... think of it as the ultimate affirmation of life." Anakin nodded slowly and Ryn went on. "Anyway. What it means for you is that you can probably expect to be propositioned pretty regularly while we're in the system."

Anakin remembered the eager redhead at Ryn's birthday party. "Like Banora, you mean."

"Probably a bit more aggressive than Banora," Ryn said. "She's pretty well-adapted to life on the Outside."

"_More_ aggressive?" said Anakin.

"Yes." Ryn paused. "Remember what I told you before, about saying to someone that the night is cold?"

"It's an invitation," Anakin recalled.

"Right." Ryn bit her lip, thinking. "That's the refined version, in Lorethan noble houses," she said finally. "Sort of an unacknowledged ritual. A way of letting someone know what you want without losing face. Plus, the sharing of warmth has other resonances in Lorethan culture ... never mind. That's not important right now. But we're going to Fjornel, the moon, where things are ... rougher."

"I can do rough," Anakin assured her.

Ryn winced. "See, on Fjornel that means you're good for a hard fuck."

"Oh. Um." Anakin shifted. "Not what I meant."

"I know," Ryn said, frustrated. "This is why I'm worried about you. You _invite_ that sort of thing without even trying, and Fjornellein are not going to be shy about taking advantage."

"Wait a minute," Anakin protested. "I do _not_ invite -"

"Anakin, you _do_." Ryn held up a hand to forestall his ongoing protest. "It's in the way you move, throwing power around like you've got it to spare. It's in everything you do. And I don't know where you got this delusion that I was the only who'd noticed, but it's just not true. I'd heard of _Anakin Skywalker_ before we ever ran into each other in the Temple, and _not_ because of that confounded prophecy."

"What?" Anakin said, shocked. "I don't - I'm not -"

"Hot?" Ryn supplied. "Yes, you are, and you know it."

"Well ..." Anakin's face burned. "I know _you_ think that, but -"

"I'm not asking you to take my word for anything," Ryn said imperturbably. "But you might take Arhavi Madrell's. Or Darra Thel-Tanis's. Or Aayla Secura's."

"I don't even - wait. Aayla Secura?"

Ryn nodded. "Quinlan Vos told one of the Healers that Aayla Secura told him she'd like to take a bite out of that. _That_ being _you_. But it wasn't truly disturbing until Aayla told Barriss Offee what Vos told her back."

Anakin stared, appalled. "Do I want to know?"

Ryn grinned wickedly. "_Masters first._"

"Ugh!" Anakin exclaimed. "I _didn't_ want to know!"

Ryn laughed. "Try not to take it so hard, Anakin. There are worse things than being thought attractive. I'm just saying that women on Fjornel will probably not confine themselves to lustful daydreams."

"_Daydreams?_"

Ryn ignored that. "They will want to touch. So you should probably be on the defensive. Unless, of course, you want to take advantage of the opportunity." Ryn shifted awkwardly. "I mean. Er. Many men do. It's perfectly normal."

Anakin scowled. "Well, _I_ don't."

Ryn shifted again. "Right. Well. Just in case, I think you should know that if a woman touches your crotch, that's traditionally an invitation to penetrative sex. It's the least common variety, and usually practiced only in committed relationships or as an act of devotion to the Living Force, but ... well, it does happen." She blushed furiously, looking away. "Which you, uh, know. Already."

"Uhrm," said Anakin eloquently.

"Yeah. So, um ... there are some terms specific to sex that Evinne or I can teach you, if you really want to know. Or Makesh might be better. I've heard he's very good in bed." Why she thought Anakin would ever need that information was a mystery. "But I think 'yes' and 'no' cover most eventualities. I mean, unless you get involved in ritual sex, or you want to plan something really kinky."

"I think I can stick to the basics for the duration of our stay," Anakin said faintly. "You don't think this Sarta character is going to take it kind of hard if I start chasing women all over the moon?"

A small frown settled between Ryn's sharp black eyebrows. "I think you're the chasee in this scenario. Not the hunter but the prey."

_That's comforting. Except not._ "Yeah, but if he thinks we're ... involved ... then maybe -"

"I can handle Sarta," Ryn promised grimly, her jaw squaring into defiance. "Trust me."

Well. He wasn't going to argue with that.


	50. Chapter 50

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER FIFTY**

They had to stop at three different points and wait several hours for updated hyperspace coordinates. Anakin was fairly well convinced that Lorethan Command was just trying to redirect them across half the Outer Rim, but when he said as much, the Lorethans just grinned.

"Well," Ryn said, stretching past him to reach the caf dispenser, "they don't call Loreth _the hidden planet_ for nothing."

"Interesting," Obi-Wan said. "Would you say that Lorethans as a group are reclusive?"

Anakin was standing close enough to feel Ryn repress a sigh, the abrupt cessation of in-drawn breath that meant she was _not_ going to exhale in a huff. She straightened her shoulders, smiled with determination, and launched into yet another lecture on Lorethan culture while Anakin made good his escape.

* * *

Introducing Engine to life on board the Corellian freighter was a little disorienting. Anakin felt as if he hardly knew Ryn any more. It wasn't that she moved or spoke differently, and she _felt_ much the same as ever, if one allowed for her slowly fading sense of _woundedness_ in the Force. But Engine clearly knew a different girl, and it was as though the Ryn he kept talking to was a Ryn Anakin had never met.

The Ryn Anakin knew was serious and studious and determined. She meditated with Yoda, stood before the Council to face their interrogations about dissident philosophy, cooked dinner with Obi-Wan. She was taking a Senior Honor in hand-to-hand combat, and a Junior in Minor Religions. She trained harder than almost anyone Anakin knew, and it was paying off.

The Ryn Engine knew apparently partied hard, danced provocatively, and told dirty jokes. She had once changed out a Podracer engine in her underwear, covered in motor oil _on purpose_, for some sort of publicity stunt. (This, evidently, was how she had met Engine.)

Dream Ryn he could mostly ... well, not ignore, but write off as the product of his own overly vivid imagination. His dreams had always been more vivid than they had any right to be, so if Ryn was naked and loving and really kind of hot in his sleep ... well, he'd learned to push his dreams aside, more or less. It wasn't as though he could do anything about most of them anyway. And at the end of the day - or the night - it wasn't Dream Ryn he had to deal with. It was Real Ryn, who was frustrating and wickedly funny and who spent one whole afternoon helping him retune the sublight drives because they were operating at ninety-three percent efficiency and he could hear their dissonance and it _bothered_ him.

Real Ryn, who had never mentioned that she'd once had a friend whose background was shockingly, painfully similar to Anakin's, and she'd left him behind.

Real Ryn, who _had_ told him abut Sarta, but had somehow neglected to mention that he had offered to _marry_ her.

Anakin wanted to trust her. He wanted to believe in her.

But there were a _lot_ of secrets.

So he kept watching her with Engine as the pieces of her past fell like meteorites all around them, and wondered what he didn't know.

* * *

They came out of hyperspace just outside the Lorethan planetary system and crept in, slowly, under escort.

"Trusting sorts," Obi-Wan remarked drily, peering through the cockpit windows at the fighters flanking them on either side.

"It's standard procedure now," Evinne replied. "Has been for a generation."

"That didn't save my family," Ryn said softly. "That's evidence, if we ever needed any, that the Destructive Device Scanners don't work. It's why I've always argued for greater restrictions on incoming ships. And yet here I am, defying my own insistence."

"It's a funny life," Evinne said.

They could see Loreth on their way in only until their view was eclipsed by proximity to its moon - one of the three, as it turned out. Two spun blank and bare in space, but the central moon had been terraformed.

They landed on the side facing away from the planet, keeping Fjornel between themselves and Loreth the whole time. When Obi-Wan mentioned this, Evinne said, "Actually, that's where ships always land. Fjornel has a single spaceport, and traffic is only allowed when it is facing away from our home planet."

"Another security measure?"

"Partly. But if also helps to regulate traffic. We don't really have the infrastructure to cope with a lot of traffic, so clear organization is essential. Militia personnel of higher ranks have clearance to take off or set down outside the designated hours, but they have to justify their decisions in an oral review afterward. Nobody wants that."

"Sounds unpleasant," Obi-Wan acknowledged.

"It is," Evinne said. "I've had to go through an oral review twice, and I absolutely hated it both times." She shuddered. "And Orun and I might as well go ahead and brace ourselves. We'll both face questioning for this business, bringing strangers in-system on an Outside errand."

"But I thought ... didn't Sarta tell Ryn to come home?"

"To perform a needless evaluation of Anakin, yes. But bringing Jedi to Loreth under any circumstances is going to go over like a bantha at a birthday party. Sarta may even be up for review himself. The High King's household is not exempt."

They came in over ice fields, studded with unhealthy trees as they approached the moon's equator.

"Fjornel isn't really large enough to support much of an ecosytem," Ryn explained. "It doesn't have the mass to attract anything like breathable atmosphere on its own, so we have to rely heavily on artificial measures that are always in danger of failing. It's terraforming that didn't quite take."

"And it's gotten worse, just in the last few years," Evinne added. "Much of the forested land was destroyed in the attack eight years ago that destroyed Orun Shipyards. We depended on those trees to help maintain atmospheric quality. Those that are left can't quite handle the task. We use scrubbers now, as well as artificial bubbles around the villages. All the outlying farms are gone."

"What's left won't last long," Ryn said, and Evinne nodded solemnly.

"Another decade, if we're lucky. Only the Dome really works well, even now."

The Dome, as it turned out, was a capacious energy shield covering several dozen square kilometers in a deep depression that sheltered it somewhat from the high winds that tore across the moon's surface. Outside the shield, shy grayleafed plants struggled for life upon a forbidding tundra. Inside the shield, flowers bloomed and water ran freely.

The spaceport was located the shield, at a distance of some kilometers - "The Dome's atmospheric scrubbers couldn't possibly handle ship exhaust" - so they were obliged to land several kilometers away and hike in.

Sarta met them in the docking bay.


	51. Chapter 51

Disclaimer: Turns out, George Lucas owns Star Wars. That kind of means I don't. But I sure do like to play with the characters anyway ... :)

**CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE**

Sarta was a tall, athletic-looking young man (no surprise there), with tawny hair and the most tanned skin Anakin had yet seen on a Lorethan.

He smiled widely when he saw them, revealing perfect white teeth.

"Aesin'Evinne," he said. "Areth'ryn. It has been too long."

Evinne and Ryn bowed in unison. "Sarta," Ryn said. "May I present Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, and my friend Engine."

They bowed politely as their names were called. "Well met," Sarta said to each in turn.

"I make known to you Sarta Ar'Dain Ri-Domna Swifthand, son of the High King."

Sarta bowed gracefully. "And now," he said, hefting a bundle under one arm, "we must needs be on our way. The spaceport is well-cared-for, but if we are to reach the city we must do so before sundown, and it is some leagues."

"Several kilometers," Ryn translated.

"Er –– yes," said Sarta. He unfolded his bundle and passed to them small breathing masks.

"Use them only at need," he instructed. "I will try to take you by the safest way, but there are some places, even so, where the air may be thinner than our bodies can well endure. It is not good to travel far on Fjornel without protection in these days."

He led the way through the spaceport –– one of the old kind, almost entirely enclosed –– and down into some sealed tunnels whose doors he unlocked with a large metal key. They creaked open on rusty hinges and closed behind the travelers with a clang.

The tunnels led out onto a rocky hillside strewn with desiccating plant life.

"Watch your step," Sarta warned them. "There are brambles and loose stones underfoot. It is easy to miss them."

It soon became apparent that he spoke the truth. Rocks and hillside and drying, trailing vines of yesteryear were all more or less the same shade of gray, blending into each other even to Jedi eyes. Here and there they saw the dusty remains of an ancient watercourse.

Obi-Wan commented on this. "Ah," said Sarta in reply. "Yes. Part of the terraforming effort. At one point there were water channels across the central third of the moon. But we were never able to keep them thawed and running, and when the atmosphere began to thin they slowly evaporated. You can still find ice in some places."

"Is your planet overpopulated?" Obi-Wan asked.

Sarta blinked. "Er ... no. Why do you ask?"

"It seems a simple matter to transport your people on Fjornel to Loreth."

Sarta frowned. "There are ... reasons to keep the moon habitable."

"Yes?"

Sarta's frown deepened. "We do not discuss such things with outsiders."

Obi-Wan had the grace to blush. "I apologize. I did not meant to intrude."

"It is well," said Sarta.

The urge to yawn was constant and never satisfied; they were all working their jaws as they walked. Speaking was difficult, so the group moved most of the time in a silence punctuated only by the labored rasp of their breathing.

"Maybe we should use the masks," Engine panted the first time he fell.

"They have a limited oxygen supply," Sarta said severely. "And they can draw more from the atmosphere, but probably not as quickly as we will use it. Better to save them for the cooling hours. We always lose some atmosphere as night draws on."

"The artificial gravity ... seems to be working well," Obi-Wan managed.

"Yes." Sarta struggled uselessly with a yawn and finally managed to say, "The moon's center is uncommonly dense. That helps."

Anakin and Obi-Wan managed better than the others, with the help of the Force. Engine had the greatest difficulty, but it was clear that even Ryn, who had spent much of her childhood on Fjornel, was not comfortable with the thin air.

They stuck to the low ground whenever possible, because Sarta insisted that it did actually make a difference in atmospheric quality. But they were still nearly five kilometers from the Dome when Engine stumbled dizzily for the fifth time and Ryn, hauling him upright again, swayed and nearly lost her footing, too.

Watching them struggle for breath, Sarta said, "Masks. Time." He sounded reluctant, but it was hard to be sure over the panting.

They strapped on the lightweight breathing masks, and Anakin felt the wild explosion of pain in his head as his oxygen-starved brain fought to adapt.

"Easy," Ryn said, her voice muffled by the mask. "The pain passes quickly."

"Really?" Obi-Wan inquired, and Ryn grimaced.

"More or less."

That response wasn't particularly encouraging, but there wasn't much to be done about it in any case, so Anakin just smiled at Ryn through his own mask and offered her a quick thumbs-up. _See? I'm all right._

They made the last leg of the journey easier than the first, chiefly due to the greater availability of oxygen, which outweighed even the rougher terrain they had to cross.

The Dome was penetrated by the same means as the spaceport; an underground tunnel, blocked in this case with an airlock instead of a single set of doors.

"It's a constant struggle," Sarta volunteered unexpectedly. "Oxygen has to come in, carbon dioxide and other pollutants have to go out. So the shield itself is only very slightly permeable, and we use a mix of intensive forest-husbandry and atmospheric processor to try and maintain some kind of balance." He sighed. "It's hard, living on the brink of disaster."

Ryn reached out and gripped his shoulder in a gesture of comfort that was achingly familiar.

Sarta covered her hand with his. "With any luck, this new supplier Ardel has found will be able to get us better equipment soon."

Ryn and Evinne froze in unison. "What supplier?" Evinne asked finally, as the Jedi held their breaths.

Sarta was watching them warily now. "I don't know the name," he said slowly. "It's a biochem organization of some kind. They wanted plant samples in return for upgrading the Dome. It seemed fair. Why? What's going on?"

They all looked at each other.

"Maybe nothing," Ryn said at last. "But I think we better talk to Ardel ourselves."

Sarta's face closed. "He's home on Loreth. They all are, except for Evinne."

"Then now seems like the perfect time to pay a visit home," Ryn countered evenly.

Sarta tightened his jaw. "I don't know what you're trying to get mixed up in, but stop. Ardel has power. More than ever, now, with kit out of the way." He glanced at Evinne. "No offense."

"None taken," Evinne said tightly. "Although I should probably warn you that I have every intention of getting mixed up in this, as you put it. Is it Stevan's doing, or my father's?"

"Stevan's," Sarta said hesitantly. He frowned at Evinne. "What's going on?"

"I'll let you know," Evinne said brightly.

Sarta rolled his eyes.


	52. Chapter 52

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Still not sure how many of my review replies are going through. If you sent a review and have not received a reply, I'm sorry! I really do respond to each one. It's just that ffn doesn't always seem to take me seriously when I hit "send" ...

Meanwhile, our heroes are having some technical difficulties of their own.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO**

Ryn drifted close to Anakin's side as they stepped out of the tunnel. "This is as close as we get to a city," she murmured, pointing ahead to the valley spreading out before them. "Keep an eye out. It can be a rough place."

Anakin doubted whether it were likely to be any rougher than Mos Espa, but he kept that thought to himself. He wondered whether her warning was meant to be a reminder of the one she'd given him a few days ago, about the women of Fjornel, but it was hard to say, and this wasn't the time to ask her.

Evinne was easier to read. She pumped her fists in the air, exultant, as they left the tunnel behind, and shouted her sheer joy at being home again.

Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Engine all stared; but it was clear her fellow Lorethans thought nothing of it. They merely grinned and exchanged grins.

The tunnel itself took its way through solid rock into a hollowed place through dense hedgegrowth, which was finally replaced by a gradually thinning stand of trees through which they could glimpse the valley. "We keep the edge of the biodome as safe as we can," Sarta explained. "Plenty of trees, hidden laser fences at random intervals, boobytraps along the inner edges. It's payed off, more than once. Even the Chiss haven't been able to find their way in. They'd have to destroy the Dome itself first." He jerked his head at Ryn. "Thanks to Shorty here, they've never even gotten a close look at our defenses."

Anakin and Obi-Wan turned as one to stare at her; Engine looked at the ground, more polite.

"Um," said Ryn, her pale cheeks burning crimson.

"What?" said Sarta. He looked closely at Ryn. "You haven't told them how you won the arm-ring?"

"Um," said Ryn again. She pulled herself together and said, "I don't wear it in the Temple."

"What's this?" Obi-Wan inquired.

"I ... uh ..." Ryn cleared her throat. "Kit sent me something, while I was in the Temple. My lightsaber, which you knew about, I guess, and ... an arm-ring. I told you about them before, remember? They're like medals of honor."

"And you have one?" Obi-Wan pursued.

"I've seen it," Anakin supplied.

"Ah." Obi-Wan regarded Ryn with some confusion. "Why don't you wear it, again?"

Ryn bit her lip and mumbled something.

"What's that?"

"I was afraid the Council would take it away," she muttered resentfully. "I _earned_ it. It was part of my old life. They had no right to it!"

"No, I quite agree," Obi-Wan said soothingly. "Although I'm a little distressed that you would think they'd try."

Ryn cast him a disbelieving look. "You don't?"

"The Council is not in the habit of stealing from young girls."

Ryn folded her arms. "I hardly think people who mine my bone marrow are likely to balk at taking my jewelry!"

"Bone marrow?" said Obi-Wan, baffled.

"Bone marrow?" demanded Sarta, angry. "Your last report said you were settling in and things were going well. What the hell would you call a _bad_ day?"

"A bad day is when Vokara Che decides to test my pain centers to see how well I can control my reactions!"

Anakin saw Obi-Wan open his mouth to chide her for hyperbole. Saw the flicker of horror when he realized she wasn't exaggerating. He met his master's eyes and shook his head. _No, I didn't know about this, either._

"Ryn," Obi-Wan said gently. "This really happened?" Ryn nodded jerkily, looking away. "When?"

Ryn shifted, hugging herself. "The day before we met," she said at last, barely audible. "I was still pretty raw, when ... you know."

_When I knocked you out cold. Oh, Ryn._ Anakin lost his place in the conversation, falling backward in time, feeling the shock as he smacked into Ryn for the first time, the bright flare inside her that he'd never been able to explain, the way the galaxy had gone dark around them as they hit the floor.

_Pain blossomed inside his head as his chin struck stone, but it didn't hurt the girl beneath him - she was unconscious before they made contact, boneless against the floor. What was wrong with her? _

_ He levered his weight off her slight figure - whatever her problem was, being squashed under an ungainly Padawan wasn't likely to help much - and reached out to frame her face with his hands. "Pretty," he murmured, unthinking, and then cleared his throat as he felt his master's scrutiny sharpen. "I haven't seen her before." _

_ "Is she all right?" _

Good question. _ "I, uh, don't know," Anakin admitted, looking down into the girl's starkly lovely face. He brushed inky hair out of the way and then started when she woke. _

_ He felt it even before she opened her eyes: a sharp, blinding instant like the spark that ignites a cold star in the dead of space. Their eyes met, and he had to work not to flinch, burned by the sheer intensity of her focus._

_ "I'm sorry," she said immediately. _

_ "No," Anakin corrected her, smiling uncertainly in spite of himself. "_I_'m sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."_

It was only in retrospect that he remembered the rawness of her presence in the Force that day, the sense of still-healing disruption.

"That's why you hate the infirmary," he said abruptly, breaking into the conversation. They all turned to stare at him. He ignored everyone else and met Ryn's eyes. "Isn't it? I thought it was because you'd been injured so often. But it was because you've been hurt _inside_ the infirmary."

"Vokara Che meant well," Ryn said, which was a more generous interpretation than Anakin was prepared to give her at the moment. "Pain is sometimes necessary. I understood that."

"Your reports," Sarta said bitingly, "have been less than thorough."

"Well," Ryn began, and then stopped. "Yeah. Okay."

Sarta shook his head. "We will speak of this later. For now ... you are weary from your journey, all of you, and this talk can be conducted as well indoors, before a fire, as it can standing in the cold night. My house is not far."

"We don't wish to impose," Obi-Wan began, but changed course at the look Ryn sent him. "But we are most grateful for your hospitality," he amended.

"Peace," said Sarta. "It is well. I have spent enough time with Outsiders to be seldom offended. But it is better that you should stay under my roof. We look askance at strangers here, though we see more of them than at home; and my father's name will be some protection to you, or so I hope." He smiled. "Besides. It will be very good to have Areth'ryn stay with us again, whatever she has been doing in the meantime." He took her hand in his and kissed the roughened knuckles, which Anakin privately thought must be enough posturing for any twenty men.

Ryn, he noticed, didn't seem to mind.

The area within the Dome was laid out in a spiral, divided at intervals into farmland vs. city. Sarta led them down shortcuts that wound through fields and between stone buildings, along no discernible path, but plainly not in fear of losing himself.

When Obi-Wan commented on this peculiar mode of city planning, Sarta shook his head. "The whole Dome isn't like that," he said. "There's forest, on the South side, past the city. Only the city itself is laid out to spiral, and it is built clear up against the Northeast Wall, closest to the spaceport. There used to be a smaller dome, connecting them. But we couldn't keep it running. That's all wasteland, now."

"That must be hard," Engine said, speaking for the first time in hours.

"Harder for the old folks," Evinne said. "We're too young to remember when all the biodomes were working. I don't even remember the Northern Forest, though I guess Orun does."

Engine frowned. "I thought Ryn was younger?"

"Orun Shipyards used to be up there."

"Oh," Engine said, evidently realizing what that meant. "I'm ... I'm really sorry."

"It was a long time ago," Ryn said, although that was patently untrue because she hadn't been _alive_ long enough to remember anything that hadn't happened in the fairly recent past.

Anakin could feel her muted sorrow in the Force: he tried to send her a wave of comfort and saw her stagger sideways. _Oops, too much_.

Ryn just shook her head at him and let Sarta help her down a bank she could probably have navigated blindfolded with both hands behind her back.

_Gag me,_ Anakin thought uncharitably.

But as he descended the bank himself, Ryn turned back to look up at him.

"Anakin," she said, very softly, and Anakin felt his throat close with shame.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she said, "Hush," and looked up.

He followed her eyes and caught his breath. The air above them was filled with glittering sparks of iridescence, casting a pale glow over their upturned faces as the others crowded down the bank.

"What is it?" Anakin asked, and Ryn smiled mysteriously.

"Stardust," she suggested, her eyes lighting with mischief.

She took a step back and held up her hands, singing softly. Anakin didn't realize what she was doing until she stepped closer again and opened her cupped palms to reveal sparkling motes of what did, in fact, look like some sort of shining dust.

"Hold out your hands," she told him.

Anakin obeyed, hesitantly, and felt the tingle as she spilled the collected brilliance into his uncertain grasp.

"Make a wish," she said, stepping away again, "and blow."

_Be happy, Mom. Be happy without me._ He met Ryn's eyes and breathed lightly on the dust. It swirled in the air, sparkling; hung for a moment before their eyes, and then, on a puff of wind, drifted away into the night.

"Come on, then," Sarta said, not unkindly. "We'll never get home at this rate."

"Coming, Sarta."


	53. Chapter 53

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: And speaking of intertextuality (which we weren't, but whatever). One of Gunryth's lines here is a reference to LOTR, because I couldn't resist. See if you can spot it! And let me know if you can't. :)

**CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE**

Sarta's house –– "It belongs to the whole family, of course, but I use it the most" –– was a high-ceilinged, circular structure built of stone. The tapestries hanging on the walls stirred in every gust of wind, but he either didn't notice or didn't care.

The entire ground floor was a single open room, with something like a dance floor in the middle and hearths set into the walls, evenly dividing the perimeter into thirds. A trapdoor near one led down into a basement or cellar. The center was open all the way up to a skylight, though not much could be seen through it at night. Against the walls, however, a platform supported on intricately carved stone pillars circled the central opening at about three meters' height, forming what was in effect a second story, hollow in the middle. This upper space was divided with elaborate wooden screens and hung with even more vividly decorated tapestries than the lower story. Lacquer gleamed in corners, and Anakin caught the glint of precious metals as the tapestries moved.

There were robed women moving about the ground floor, who paused in their work to bow and smile a welcome, but the first word of greeting came from above.

"Sarta!" said a female voice, warm and rich.

Anakin looked up to see a tall, fair-haired woman pushing aside one of the curtains and stepping forward to the carved railing that ringed the upper story. "You bring our guests?"

Anakin stared. The last time he'd been this overawed by a woman, he'd called her an angel.

It didn't seem outside the realm of possibility this time, either.

"My sister," Sarta informed them in an aside. Louder, he said, "They are here! Come down and greet them!"

She gave the group a brilliant smile and turned to descend the stairs, moving in a graceful flutter of brightly colored fabric. Anakin recognized the cut of the kyril and dawora, but they were brighter and more intricately embroidered than anything he had seen Ryn or Evinne wear. Mirrored discs flashed in the him of her floating skirt as she sped lightly down the stairs, and her bare toes sparked with deep red lacquer.

Watching her, spellbound, Anakin was only dimly aware that his master was similarly entranced. Engine seemed to be having some trouble just breathing. Even the Lorethans were not unmoved, thought it might be a bit of a stretch to classify what Ryn was feeling as _admiration_.

"May I present Jedi knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, his Padawan Anakin Skywalker, and a friend of Clan Orun, by name Engine," Sarta said. "I also bring to your remembrance Aesin'Evine Ardel, Makesh Aravel the Disinherited, and your own foster-sister, Areth'ryn Orun." He turned to his guests. "My sister, Gunryth Ar'Dain Ri-Domna."

"Milady," Anakin and Obi-Wan said, bowing in unison.

Gunryth stepped forward to acknowledge them and the three Lorethans dropped to the left knee, right fist clenched against heart. Anakin could feel Ryn's simmering tension leap.

"Rise," said Gunryth in that low, musical voice. "I would speak with you."

She went first to Evinne, her blue eyes stern and commanding on the younger woman's face.

"You have changed," she pronounced solemnly.

Evinne actually blushed. "A little, Ri-Domna."

"It is well," Gunryth announced. "I like who you have become. But you will be a greater warrior yet."

Evinne bowed, ever so slightly. "By the will of the gods, Ri-Domna."

"Makesh Aravel, come forward." She laid her white hand against his cheek, brushing back his unkempt dark hair. "You will earn a name of your own. Be not impatient."

He bowed, more deeply than Evinne had done. "May the gods will it so, milady."

She repeated the gesture with Ryn, turning the younger girl's face to the light, lacquered nails glistening like blood against the stark white skin.

"You have been tried since last we met," she said at length. "The shadow of death lies heavy on you."

"I have died."

Gunryth and Sarta caught their breaths. "Tell me."

"I was brought back."

"Tell me."

"Anakin asked me not to go."

Gunryth's gaze sharpened into challenge. "You refused your destiny for him?"

Ryn stared back, unshaken. "We make our own destiny."

Gunryth pressed her lips together. "We do not make our own deaths."

"Love is stronger than Death." The words rang with conviction.

"It will change you."

"It has already changed me."

"This love is forbidden," warned Gunryth.

Ryn's mouth twisted with wry humor and a sudden, unexpected vulnerability. "It is unrequited."

Gunryth breathed a laugh in response. "More fool he."

The beginnings of a smile turned rueful. "Maybe."

Gunryth brushed Ryn's cheek with the backs of her fingers, a lingering touch almost like a benediction. "I am sorry for your pain," she said softly, and moved on.

She came next to Anakin, no great surprise, considering. Ryn hadn't so much as glanced in his direction since Gunryth descended the steps, but if the jewel-toned woman had been paying any attention at all to their introductions, she must surely have caught on. Anakin wanted to be angry with Ryn for outing him –– _them_ –– so openly, but she clearly regarded herself as under testimony. Lying to Gunryth wasn't an option.

When Gunryth touched his face, her fingers light and cool against his jaw, she looked straight into his eyes and Anakin felt his soul laid bare.

"So," she said consideringly. "Here is the boy who has caused so much pain. What have you to say for yourself, young Anakin Skywalker?"

"That I am sorry."

She lifted her perfectly arched brows. "That is not much of an answer."

Anakin forced himself to return her clear gaze. "I have no other." He swallowed. "I didn't meant to hurt Ryn."

"Mmm," said Gunryth, sounding unaccountably like Yoda. She stroked her cool thumb over his cheekbone. "I sense conflict in you. The struggle within. Time will tell what you become."

"I will be a Jedi," Anakin promised, and saw a flicker of ... not quite sorrow, maybe closer to resignation ... in her eyes before she hid it in those blue-shadowed depths.

"Time will tell," she repeated, and let him go.

"You are troubled," she informed Obi-Wan, before she even touched his skin. "I make you nervous?"

"Merely curious," Obi-Wan corrected, just managing to hold still for her examination. "Do you use the Force?"

Gunryth looked amused. "All living things take from the Force, and give to it as well. You Jedi teach this, do you not?"

Obi-Wan gave her his best charmingly rueful smile (Anakin knew it well). "I'm afraid I meant a more specific application of the Force."

"If you are asking me whether I draw upon the Force to help me understand others: not consciously. I seek the truth in each heart." She cupped his face carefully in her hands. "Now be quiet." He obediently fell silent as her eyes searched his.

"I sense love denied," she said at last.

Obi-Wan flinched, just barely. "A Jedi must not form attachments."

"And yet you cling to the pain." She shook her head at such folly. "You worry also for your apprentice. But you fear the wrong things." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "As a father you shall be to him, if only for a little while."

She came last to Engine. "Well met, Stranger," she said softly, while the boy made some inarticulate noise of admiration. Gunryth laughed and stroked his fiercely blushing cheek. "Fear not," she said, her rich voice gently teasing. "There is little a woman likes more than to render a man speechless."

Anakin could see the edge of Engine's grin even as he ducked his head, practically glowing with pleasure.

"You have a gentle heart," Gunryth murmured. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "May it bring you peace."

She stepped back, the bright jewel colors of her raiment fluttering around her with the movement, her coiled golden hair flashing with a hint of red in the firelight, and flung wide her arms. "Well met, my guests!" she cried. "The peace of this house be upon you, as long as you stay under our roof! No doubt you will want refreshing. Come this way!"


	54. Chapter 54

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Ryn starts asking the right questions, and Anakin and Obi-Wan get a crash course in Lorethan culture.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR**

Gunryth led them up the stairs and to a small room with three large hammered metal tubs. "We had thought there were but three men in your party," she explained. "Another tub is being fetched hither as we speak, and more water also. But here the four of you shall bathe and dress. Clean clothes are provided, though we had to guess at size." She pointed at a pile of garments, neatly folded, on a bench at the far side of the room. "Your own clothes will be clean by morning, though perhaps not dry." She stepped aside as two servants entered, carrying up a fourth tub between them. "Ah, good. Here we are. I will send maidens to attend you."

She started for the door, Evinne following, but Ryn hung back a few steps, anxiety written on her face.

"Try to look at it as a cultural experiment," she said in a rush. "Remember that ... serving ... is an act of devotion for us. But you can" ––

"Areth'ryn!" Gunryth's voice called from the other side of the curtain, heavy with command.

Ryn held her ground long enough to lock gazes with Anakin. "_You can always say no,_" she whispered, and fled.

* * *

Gunryth left Ryn in the room that had sometimes been hers before, lavishly decorated in the bright blues and greens she'd loved as a child.

Still loved, really.

She ran her fingers, over vines embroidered in silver and thought blankly, _Why do I never wear color?_

Every piece of clothing she'd ever chosen for herself had been black.

_What does that say about me?_

It had always seemed so pointless to dress to please the eye that beheld her. There was no one to enjoy the sight. And dressing for her own pleasure had somehow never occurred to her mind.

In the Jedi Temple, it hadn't mattered. Not really. There was even a certain practicality to wearing dark hues.

There had been a time when Ryn had been genuinely uninterested in drawing a man's gaze. She'd been sent away from home so young: hardly knowing what to make of the changes in her own body. On Malastare, her sexuality in had been something she performed, not something she experienced. Just another act of public devotion. In her personal life, she had remained austere.

Thinking of it now, black –– the _absence_ of color –– had suited her remarkably well.

Black had been the easy choice, the default setting.

She hadn't even realized it until it changed.

_What if I'm a person in my own right?_

She was appalled to realize her entire life had been defined by lack. By what she _didn't_ have.

Family. Freedom. _Anakin._

She trailed her fingers over the rich fabric. "I want color."

"Sorry?" said the girl who had come up with hot water.

Ryn stepped away from the tapestry and lifted her chin. "Can you find me some clothes in color?" She thought about Anakin staring at Gunryth in her brilliant silks. She doubted whether it was the color working in that case –– but then again, it couldn't hurt. There was _personality_ behind that vibrancy.

_"How can we be friends if we can't even be ourselves?"_ she'd asked Anakin, days ago, when she had finally begun to understand.

When they had first met, Obi-Wan had given them the awkward task of making conversation. Between Ryn's reticence and Anakin's resentment, it hadn't been easy. They had fumbled valiantly around the issue of droid repair, about which Ryn knew less than nothing, until finally Anakin, taking pity on her ignorance, steered the conversation into safer waters by resorting to a series of stand-by questions common among children half their age. (She'd discovered later that that he had chosen the questions specifically because he'd learned from experience that they worked as well in the Temple as they did on Tatooine, and therefore might reasonably be expected to work on a Lorethan as well.) He had uncovered her exact age, her birth date (she had the Standard conversion for that memorized from her chart), the prior existence of a pet (not a happy topic).

They were managing pretty well until he asked her favorite color.

She hadn't understood the question. Colors either _were_ or they _weren't_, Or, actually, _colors_ didn't exist at all, except in perception, the mind's way of interpreting light in the visible spectrum: so what did it matter whether she liked them or not? They were abstract. She had delivered a highly technical dissertation on the effects of visible light on beings' affective states, and wound to her conclusion with a sense of pride at having managed the answer to a difficult question without stumbling over her Basic.

Anakin had just stared at her for a long moment, torn between amusement and distaste, not sure whether to take her seriously. Finally, he spoke, with just the flicker of a smile. "So ... what's your favorite color?"

Six months ago she hadn't even understood the question. Now the answer seemed desperately important.

Ryn gestured at the vibrant wall hangings. "I want color. Blues and greens. Like this."

The housegirl stared at her, much as Anakin had done. "I ... will try, Ri-Domna."

"Areth'ryn," Ryn said automatically. "And thank you."

She glanced at the oversized bed, draped in sea blue, and thought about the flimsi-wrapped package in her utility belt. Thought more about sinking into all that soft blue luxury with Anakin's weight on top of her.

If he liked color, she was going to give him an eyeful.

And if he didn't ... maybe she'd find something she liked for herself.

"I'm a person," she said with determination, because things weren't real until they were spoken. "I am not defined by lack."

The housegirl looked as dubious about this as Ryn felt, so Ryn waved her out.

"It's a start, anyway," she told herself, and stripped for the tub.

* * *

While Ryn was busy with her adventures in self-discovery, Anakin was dealing with some problems of his own.

At first, things were going fairly well, even if they were slightly awkward. Four young women had come upstairs with kettles of piping hot water, which Anakin figured they were going to use to heat the cooler water already in the tubs. It seemed reasonable, at least.

He wasn't crazy about getting undressed in front of strangers, but Makesh and Obi-Wan and Engine all seemed to be okay with it, so when a gently rounded young woman with golden hair and a welcoming smile urged him to give her his clothes for washing, he just blushed and said, "Sure. Can you just ...?" _Turn your back,_ he wanted to say, but he couldn't, because everybody else was submitting to being undressed, with varying degrees of enjoyment.

She laughed delightedly. "Are you shy? You _are!_" She bounced closer to kiss him on the cheek. "Oh, but I hope we get to know each other so much better."

"Uh," said Anakin, and she laughed again.

"All right then," she said, demonstrating Ryn's tendency to exaggerate her 'r's. "My name is Bridein, and my task is to take care of you tonight." She smiled up at him. "However you choose."

"Uh."

She tugged gently at his tunic. "Would you prefer to undress yourself?"

"Uh," said Anakin a third time. "That ... would be good, thanks."

Bridein flashed another encouraging smile. "I'll just turn my back then, shall I?" She spun around without waiting for an answer.

Anakin shucked his clothes hastily and shuffled past her to the tub, but when he reached for the soap, thinking himself safe for the moment, he looked up to find Bridein standing at the foot of the tub.

Anakin raised his knees to his chest, hunching over. "Wha"–– he began, but Bridein dropped her flimsy robe.

"Wha –– I –– uh ..." Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan for help, only to find his master engrossed in a similar predicament.

Bridein reclaimed his attention by stepping gracefully into the tub. "Here," she said, taking the soap gently from his hands. "Let me help you."

"Master!"

"It is ... all right ... Padawan," said Obi-Wan. His voice sounded strained. "The Force ... will be with you."

_What?_ thought Anakin blankly. _Oh no no no no no ..._

Obi-Wan was trying to explain to his own helper how he, as a Jedi, generally chose to abstain from this kind of intimacy, even with strangers.

Anakin wasn't sure, but he thought it might have been the _even with strangers_ part that had the woman in his tub confused. It was certainly confusing the hell out of Anakin.

He turned back to his own tub, reasonably certain that at least he couldn't do a _worse_ job of explaining. But in the seconds he'd been distracted by Obi-Wan's problems, his own had gotten worse. Bridein had managed to get her hands soaped up, and now she leaned forward and started lathering his chest.

"Ahhh," she murmured, sliding her hands over his skin. "You're very ... mmm ... fit." She shivered in evident pleasure, stopped what she was doing, and looked him in the eye. "What should I call you?"

"I'm, uh, Anakin Skywalker," Anakin said, remembering belatedly that it had been rude of him not to give her his name when she gave him hers.

Bridein smiled in satisfaction and leaned even closer, bumping her breasts against his updrawn knees. "Tell me, Anakin Skywalker," she purred. "May I wash your hair?"


	55. Chapter 55

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Ryn gets lessons in womanhood, while Anakin is interrogated in a bathtub.

**CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE**

It wasn't the housegirl who returned with brightly colored clothes, but Gunryth. Ryn was rinsing out her hair when she felt a draught on her back and turned to see that her foster-sister had pushed aside the tapestry that hung over the doorway and entered.

"Ermais told me you wanted greens and blues," she said, by way of greeting. "I have brought some of what was ready to hand."

"Oh." Ryn felt her cheeks heating. "I didn't mean to ––"

"Hush," said Gunryth. "It is well. I wanted to do it." She sat down slowly on the foot of the bed. "I have a question, however."

Ryn eyed her warily from the depths of the tub. "Yes?"

"Is this to do with that Skywalker boy?"

Ryn considered. "it probably wouldn't have occurred to me if we had never met," she said slowly. "Why? You think I shouldn't do it?"

Probably Gunryth was right. Probably she _shouldn't_ do anything different. This was no time to embark on a journey of self-discovery; they had _real_ problems.

"I didn't say all that," Gunryth said, reading her without difficulty. She frowned and shifted her position, making her breasts play with her neckline in ways that Ryn's never would. "A woman should always be ready to change _because_ of a man, and never willing to change _for_ a man."

_Sometimes I think you just like to obfuscate._ Ryn rinsed lather off her bare arms, trying to sort out Gunryth's meaning. "So I ought to stick to my old clothes?" she said finally.

Gunryth sighed, her patience clearly taxed, and Ryn knew she'd just managed to do it wrong somehow. Again.

"Why do you want to wear green tonight?" the adept asked her patiently.

"Well," Ryn said, scrambling to collect her thoughts. "I walked in and thought how much I loved the colors in this room. And then I wondered why I never wore them on my own body. And then I realized that I didn't have what you might call a _reason_." She slicked the wet hair back from her face to see Gunryth better, checking to see if this was the right answer. "It seemed like as good a time as any to start."

"And what has this to do with Skywalker?"

"What?"

"I can sense your longing. It is for the boy, yes? Skywalker?"

"Uh," said Ryn. "Yeah." She bit her lip. "I told you already, I wouldn't have thought of wearing colors before we met." She couldn't hold Gunryth's stare and looked down. "And I want to know if he will look at me differently," she muttered sullenly.

"Ahhh," said Gunryth. She sounded vindicated.

Ryn scowled, resentful of her own foolishness. What had she been thinking?

Was she a bird, to try and attract a mate with her plumage?

Belatedly she remembered that it was usually the male birds who did that.

_So am I a man in this scenario?_

Her head was beginning to ache.

"Areth'ryn," Gunryth said gently, and Ryn looked up. "Are you ready to know love?"

To an Outsider that might not have meant much, but Ryn knew.

_Anakin._

Her voice only shook a little. "Yes."

Gunryth smiled and picked up a towel. "Then come here."

* * *

"You're really beautiful," Bridein murmured, running fresh water through his hair.

"Uh," said Anakin. _Thank you_ would have been a more appropriate answer, but he was still trying to find his way back from _Men aren't beautiful._

Bridein didn't seem to mind. "So strong," she said, her voice dropping throatily. "Such tanned skin. It's like you're made out of sunlight." She bent closer, abruptly, her breasts bouncing gently at chin level, and kissed his damp forehead. "I can see why Orun Ri-Domna is so taken with you."

That meant Ryn, probably. "She's not –– we're not ––"

Bridein nodded. "I heard. She told Gunryth in front of the hall that her love was unrequited." She ran lathered hands down Anakin's back. "That took more guts than I'll ever have."

If he kept her talking, maybe he wouldn't have to think about the way her hands felt on his skin. "Why's that?"

"Well ..." Bridein shrugged. "To be rejected in love is always painful. But Orun Ri-Domna spoke without shame." Thoughtfully, she added, "I'd always heard she was an upright sort."

Something in her statement bothered him. He backtracked. "Shame?"

"You know," Bridein said. "Being rejected and all that. Not that you didn't have your reasons!" she added quickly. "I just don't understand why Gunryth Ri-Domna had to question her before the hall. I hate to see anyone humiliated like that."

Anakin's sense that all was not well was beginning to sharpen into a Bad Feeling. "Humiliated?" he repeated. "I don't think I like the sound of that."

"You wouldn't be a very nice person if you did," Bridein said. "But it's not your fault if she does not stir your ... feelings." Anakin had the distinct impression that she had edited whatever more explicit term she'd been about to use. But before he could call her on it, Bridein pulled back a little to look him in the face. "Is it that you don't like girls?"

It took several seconds for her meaning to penetrate, and then Anakin cringed. "No!" he said hastily. "I mean, yes! I mean ... girls, yeah."

"Ah," said Bridein, but she looked dissatisfied.

"What?" asked Anakin.

"Nothing," she said quickly, reaching for the soap. "It is none of my business."

_That wasn't stopping you before,_ Anakin thought. He reached up and caught her wrist. "Tell me," he insisted.

This made Bridein blush, as climbing into the bathtub with a stranger had not. She looked down, her soapy wrist twisting lightly in his grip. "I just ... if you like girls, and she likes you ..." She glanced up at him under tawny lashes. "Why not please each other?"

Anakin wondered, briefly, if it were some sort of secret pastime for Lorethan women to torture men about their sexual choice.

He took a deep breath and tried to expel his frustration with it. "Ryn is my friend," he said, slowly and distinctly. "I don't want to take advantage of her."

Bridein pulled free, but she looked thoughtful rather than displeased. She soaped her hands again and began lathering his thighs, but Anakin held grimly to his focus.

"Why would it be taking advantage?" Bridein asked eventually. "If she wanted to do it?"

Anakin gave up his half-hearted attempt to get the soap back from her and focused his concentration instead on redirecting his bloodflow to where it belonged. "Jedi are not allowed to love," he said, because sometimes the truth really was easier. "It wouldn't be fair to Ryn."

Bridein grew still, looking down at the sudsy water. "So you won't ... uh ... _enjoy_ her ... because you care too much?"

Anakin couldn't tell from her tone whether she thought this was good or bad, but at least it was mostly true. "Um," he said warily. "Yeah?"

Bridein breathed deep, practically glowing with enthusiasm. "That may just be the most romantic thing I have ever heard!"

"Um," said Anakin again, pretty sure something had gotten lost in translation. "What ––"

"Sh." Bridein pressed a soapy finger to his lips. "Just let me take care of you tonight."


	56. Chapter 56

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX**

The cool silk slid over Ryn's bare skin like a dream, awakening her nerve endings and puckering her nipples.

"Hmm," said Gunryth, observing this reaction. "Silk is definitely your fabric. I thought it might be."

"What do you mean?" Ryn demanded. She felt uncertain, and it was making her cranky. "I wanted to change colors, not cloth."

"I know that," Gunryth said, unruffled. "But the silk is here, and your body likes it." She pushed back Ryn's damp hair and squeezed it again with a towel. "Shift beneath the fabric. Feel it move against your skin. Enjoy it."

Ryn closed her eyes, obediently shifting her stance to make the silk slide across her skin. "But ––"

"Uh-uh!" Gunryth warned. Even with her eyes closed, Ryn could tell she was holding up a finger in admonition. _So I guess my senses really are coming back. Who knew?_ "If you want to enjoy a man's body, first your must learn to enjoy your own."

"But I just wanted to wear green," Ryn protested, trying to drag this conversation back to something like her original intent.

"Wearing color will do you no good if you are still dreary on the inside," Gunryth answered. "Long have I sensed this lack in you. I could not help, before. But now you begin to know what you want." She reached out and gripped Ry's shoulder with timeless strength. "This is your story, Areth'ryn. Don't let anyone else tell it but you."

It struck Ryn then that Anakin wouldn't have understood Gunryth's exhortation any better than Ryn had understood his question about colors. But she knew what Gunryth meant: every life was a story, and it was time she started living hers.

She fought an incongruous urge to giggle. Thirteen years she'd been a secondary character in her own tale.

"Aye," Gunryth said, watching her. "Time to play the hero."

Ryn wished that didn't sound quite so _hard_.

* * *

The ground floor was busier than it had been on their arrival. A table set on trestles now dominated the center of the room; musicians played near one hearth; three young women danced half-naked in front of another, casting vast shadows on the opposite wall; and there was a general sense of hustle and bustle as women hurried to and fro, preparing the table. There were few men, as Ryn had predicted.

Speaking of Ryn ... where was she? Her quiet familiarity would have been a comfort in the midst of all this strangeness. This was her home; he longed to see it through her eyes.

Also, he had a definite bad feeling about whatever had gone on between her and Gunryth earlier. All this talk of shame and humiliation was beginning to paint a very ominous picture. One in which Ryn was keeping a lot of things to herself. Again.

Evinne drifted up out of the crowd, dressed in vivid crimson. "Master Kenobi, Anakin. Engine."

"Subtle," Obi-Wan said, looking her over. "Well done."

Evinne snorted. "I don't want to be subtle, I want to get noticed."

"Good job, then," Obi-Wan said tartly.

Anakin shook his head at their verbal fencing. "Have you seen Ryn?"

Evinne grinned at him, which was less than reassuring. There was a decidedly wicked gleam lurking around the corner of her eye. "Not yet. But I hear she's been locked away with Gunryth almost since we got here."

Anakin frowned. "What does that mean?"

But instead of answering, Evinne cocked her head, listening to a flourish in the music, wild flutes and drums like a frantic heartbeat, and looked past him.

Her grin widened. "See for yourself," she said, pointing to the head of the stairs.

Anakin turned to see, and ... stopped.

He should have gotten it at once, of course. They'd just been talking about her. But there was this unknowable delay, an instant caught outside of Time, in which the girl standing at the head of the stairs to the heraldry of swelling alien music was a stranger. Anakin stared, spellbound, caught int that eternal instant between experience and understanding.

Then the stranger rubbed the back of her left hand, betraying an old ache, and suddenly Anakin knew her.

His jaw dropped. "Ryn?"

Her eyes swept the crowd and found him. She met his gaze and offered an uncertain smile before glancing away.

He could see Gunryth behind her –– bright fluttering clothes hidden under a sober brown cloak; she leaned forward now and whispered something in the younger girl's ear, and Ryn started down the stairs alone.

Evinne caught his shoulder. "Go on!" she hissed. "Go to her!"

Anakin wasn't sure he understood her adamancy, but he stepped forward anyway, graceless and confused.

They met at the foot of the stairs.

Standing on the bottom step, Ryn was slightly taller than Anakin, so that he had to look up instead of down to meet her eyes.

"Hey," he said, uncomfortably aware that everyone was watching.

"Hey," Ryn breathed in answer. Her eyes searched his face intently.

"You look ... nice," Anakin managed.

Ryn's tentative smile wavered. "Nice?" she echoed, anxious.

_I'll never understand why one of the most beautiful girls in the galaxy is so insecure about her looks._ Anakin mustered a reassuring smile for her. "Really nice."

Her own smile slipped a little further, straining at the edges. "Well ... thanks." She got back a little of her verve and added, "You look pretty good yourself."

"Thanks," Anakin said, and shot her a look. "That's how you're supposed to take a compliment," he added reproachfully.

"Sorry," Ryn said. "I'm a little distracted."

There was more, Anakin could feel it, but if Ryn didn't want to talk, this wasn't the time or the place to make her.

Anakin took a guess at her meaning and said, "We'll find him, Ryn."

Ryn frowned. "Maybe. I still can't feel him. Although the pain is definitely fading."

"I know," Anakin said. "Me, too."

Ryn looked up at him, her eyes uncertain. "It's better this way. It has to be."

Anakin didn't understand, but he was ready to let her have her way. "Sure," he said, trying to sound supportive instead of confused. "Whatever you need."

"Thank you." Ryn shifted and cleared her throat. Anakin was pretty sure she was trying to remind him of something, but he couldn't figure out what.

"So," she said awkwardly, leaning into the carved banister a little.

Anakin looked at her expectantly, but Ryn couldn't seem to bring herself to say whatever it was. She just kept glancing up at him through her extravagant lashes. She'd rimmed her eyes in kohl, so the effect was even more striking than usual, but it hardly constituted an explanation.

"Uh," she said finally, her presence taut with desperation.

"Yeah?"

But the approach of a presence behind him made Anakin turn and look over his shoulder.

Sarta stopped just short of the bottom step, eyes on Ryn as he bowed low.

"May I be your escort into the hall this evening?"

Ryn's jaw clenched. "Of course," she said demurely, but Anakin noticed that she was speaking half through her teeth. "You honor me, my lord."

"The delight is all my own,' Sarta assured her, possibly the most oversold line Anakin had ever heard. Unfortunately, there was no way to call him on it without calling Ryn's foster-brother a liar, which was probably not a good idea, especially since they were staying in his house.

Ryn took the hand he extended and floated down the final step with a studied grace that was worlds away from the artless, unselfconscious Ryn he knew.

_I've got a bad feeling about this._


	57. Chapter 57

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN**

Evinne joined him at the foot of the steps and held out a drink. "Here. You look like you could use it."

Anakin took the drink, sipped it, and gagged. "That's ..." he coughed "... alcoholic."

"I know," Evinne said. "That's why I brought it." She waved vaguely at Ryn and Sarta as they made a circuit of the room. "How'd you manage to screw that up, anyway?"

Anakin glared at her. "How do you know it wasn't Ryn?"

Evinne sipped her drink.

_Right_. "I don't know," he admitted. "I told her she looked nice, and then things went downhill from there. What was I supposed to do?"

"Pretty much what Sarta's doing now," Evinne said, "only better and because you care."

"Better," Anakin repeated doubtfully.

Evinne let out a slow breath; it might have been a sigh. "I think you were supposed to be dazzled by her newfound beauty," she explained wearily. "Throwing yourself at her feet would have been a suitably dramatic gesture."

"Yeah, that wouldn't have been awkward at all," Anakin said. Then the other shoe dropped. "Wait. What do you mean, 'newfound'? Ryn's always been pretty."

Evinne winced. "'Pretty?'"

"Yes!"

She shook her head. "You're hopeless."

"What?" Anakin said. "What did I say?"

"Not the right thing, that's for damn sure," Evinne said. "You and Ryn are going to have to work this one out for yourselves." She started to move off and then turned turned back for a parting word. "Oh, but you see that silk wrap shirt she's wearing?"

"The _dawora_, yeah," Anakin said, feeling a perverse need to prove his knowledge of Lorethan culture, mostly because it was spotty.

"I heard Gunryth told her to imagine the cloth was your hands on her breasts. Cheers!" She saluted him with her drink and trailed off into the crowd.

* * *

He found Obi-Wan not much later. The older Jedi was standing near one hearth, managing to look suave even though he probably understood even less of what was going on around them than Anakin did. At least Anakin had a smattering of knowledge derived from Ryn's childhood and not edited for Jedi ears, (though unfortunately nothing that would explain Gunryth's instructions regarding her breasts); Obi-Wan was pretty much on his own.

Except in the literal sense, because the young woman who had helped him with his bath was hanging on him, determined to continue her ministrations.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan greeted him, with a level of enthusiasm that made Anakin instantly suspicious. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"I don't think this is a party?" Anakin said. He frowned at the gathering. "I think they do this every night."

The brunette twirled her hips at Obi-Wan. "I can give you a party."

Anakin raised his eyebrows. "Uh ..."

"That won't be necessary, thank you," Obi-Wan said. "As Jedi, we are able to satisfy our physical urges without ––"

Anakin rolled his eyes and left them to it.

* * *

They were called to supper before Anakin could track Ryn down, but in the end she found him anyway, sidling into line next to him with a smile and a word for the woman whose place she was taking. The woman seemed amused rather than outraged at the line-breaking, so whatever Ryn said to her must have been pretty good.

She turned to him with a grin only slightly strained, and Anakin figured that meant his blunder was forgiven, if not forgotten. "Have you seen Engine? I wanted to check on him."

It wasn't like Ryn to have trouble finding anyone: a reminder of just how deep her injuries still ran.

"Not since we came downstairs," Anakin said. "What's wrong?"

Ryn frowned. "Nothing, I hope. I don't know the girl who's been assigned to him for the evening, and I want to make sure he's taken care of."

Anakin glanced over his shoulder. "Who's with Obi-Wan?"

"Madriel. I don't know anything about her except that she's lusty."

"You can say that again," Anakin said. "She's got Obi-Wan practically pinned to the wall."

"Oh, dear," Ryn said, following Anakin's gaze. "Should I go free him?"

"No." Ryn didn't seem to be loading her plate, so Anakin started adding vegetables to it. "Let him work it out for himself. He is a negotiator, after all."

Ryn eyed his food selection with skepticism. "Surely you want me to save your master from his sordid fate?"

"He's a big boy," Anakin said. "He can take it."

"I've heard the same about you."

Anakin stopped in the act of scooping some kind of dressing onto his plate. "Huh?"

"Bridein," Ryn said, as though that should explain everything. She held out her plate, and Anakin automatically plopped dressing onto it. "She claims to have been impressed with your architecture."

Comprehension struck him so suddenly that he almost dropped a serving spoon in the sauce. "_What?_" he gasped, panicked. "No! Ryn, it wasn't like that, I swear! We didn't ––"

"Hush," Ryn said gently, reaching past him to rescue the endangered sauce spoon. "I know. Bridein came to me just a little while ago to ask whether I would take it as a sign of disrespect if she invited you to her bed tonight."

"_What?_" said Anakin.

Ryn dumped sauce on both their plates and nudged him farther down the line. "Relax. She was just trying to spare my feelings."

"Ah." Anakin spooned up some kind of fried vegetable. "Uh. What did you tell her?"

"That I had no claim on you." Ryn sounded tense, but not shaky; Anakin wasn't sure whether to interpret that as _being brave_ or _moving on._

He sought for words while she made a bread selection and helped their plates. "I know I don't ... fully understand ... your culture ... but I know ... this evening, when we arrived ..." He took a deep breath and tried to stop talking in circles. _Spit it out, Skywalker._ "I know Gunryth's questioning was hard for you. I'm sorry."

Ryn offered a rueful shrug. "It's not like I had to tell Gunryth anything I didn't already know myself."

Anakin didn't see how she could have been made to say what she didn't know, but Ryn's tone made it clear that she could, so he let that one go. "I'm sorry anyway."

"Thanks."

"And I –– uh –– I didn't know about the escort thing. I would have asked, if ..."

Ryn tensed, just perceptibly. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay." Anakin dropped some salted meat on her plate. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Ryn sighed. "I know."

"And ... you look ... really nice." _Find a new word, damn it!_

"Ah. Thanks." But there was no pleasure in her voice when she said it.

Anakin was about to try and dig himself in even deeper, but Ryn tapped him on the shoulder. "I see Engine. Enjoy your evening." She was gone before he could answer.


	58. Chapter 58

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT**

It had been hard enough to get away from Sarta the first time; Ryn didn't want him to catch sight of her wandering unescorted through the room and come to her rescue. It seemed that he still thought he could talk her out of the Coruscant mission –– despite the fact that she was here with two Jedi –– and had determined to show her all she was missing back home.

Mainly: him.

But Ryn had never been attracted to Sarta before, and wasn't now, and his attempts to play the gallant were just an annoying distraction from her real problems.

"Whoa," said Engine, when she reached him. "I like what you're not wearing."

Ryn found to her surprise that she was blushing. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah." He looked her over. "Is that skirt see-through?"

"I'm wearing underwear."

"I can tell. Blue."

"To match the kyril," Ryn explained. Seeing Engine's blank look, she added, "The skirt."

"Oh," said Engine. "Right. Well, it looks good on you."

"Thanks," Ryn said. She tugged at the hem of his tunic. "You clean up all right,too."

Engine grinned. "I think we all did pretty well," he said cheerfully. "Have you seen Evinne? She looks good enough to eat."

"You have plans for her already, then?" Ryn inquired innocently, and laughed when Engine sputtered his drink.

"You have a dirty mind," he told her, when he could speak again.

Ryn grinned at him. "Well, I'm trying. I don't have a lot of practice yet."

"You're doing fine, trust me," Engine said. "Who's it for?"

"It's for me," Ryn said. "I mean, I could stand to dirty Anakin some, too, but mostly it's for me. There are something things I have to figure out."

"Like?" Engine prompted, when she didn't say anything else.

"I don't know," Ryn said, grimacing. "I'm not even sure who I am. I mean, if nobody's telling me what to be."

Engine's brown eyes softened. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

"Do you?" Ryn said. "Because I don't, not really. It's like feeling my way in the dark. Slow and painful." She shook her head. "Anyway. Can I get you a plate? Or you could have this one."

"My keeper went off to get one already," Engine said. "Nareth. Nice girl."

"Good," Ryn said inanely. "I'm glad you're enjoying her company." She shifted her weight, out at ends. "I guess now I should go rescue Anakin from his own indiscriminate food choices. Force only knows what ––"

"I think he's got some help already," Engine said, and Ryn turned to follow his gaze.

Bridein –– Ryn recognized her patterned skirt from earlier in the evening –– had one leg wrapped around Anakin, and was teasing his mouth with a piece of fruit, running it over and over his lips. Anakin, meanwhile, was doing a commendable job of keeping them both upright, which seemed to be taking all his concentration at the moment.

"So he does," Ryn said tightly. _Get over yourself. Be happy for him. Or at least be significantly less murderous._ She glanced back at Engine. "I'm going outside for some air. Come and find me if you need anything."

She wove her way through the hall, responding mechanically to shouted greetings without slowing down, and slipped out the huge carven doors. She passed out under the porch roof and stood at the head of the steps cut into the side of the hill, looking up at stars that gleamed bright and close.

_We really are a galaxy away from Coruscant here._ She sat down her plate, untouched, and breathed in the cold night air, willing it to clear her mind.

It helped a little. Sort of.

She closed her eyes against the starlit night and opened herself, lowering her shields completely and straining for a trace of Kit. They were so close to home now, surely if she could sense him anywhere, it would be here ...

_Ryn?_

But the startled, uncertain answer wasn't Kit's, it was Anakin's: surprised, probably, at her sudden openness.

He probed her, gently, and Ryn dropped to her knees, crying out in relief because he felt so damn _good_ and there was no one to judge her, out here.

_Ryn?_ He pressed harder, and Ryn felt him everywhere.

_Yes yes yes Anakin please don't stop_... She pulled herself together and dragged up some semblance of shields. _We can't do this. We have to be careful._

She couldn't tell whether Anakin understood her warning or not: anyone who said telepathy was easier than speaking was trying to sell you something. But he withdrew from her mind, leaving her weakened and bereft and desperately longing for more, and Ryn bent and hugged her knees to her chest and just tried not to cry.

She was concentrating so hard that she didn't even feel Anakin coming closer until he sat down on the step and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

She gasped and lost her focus, scrambling for shields, and Anakin released her to lay one hand on her back. "Take it easy," he said. He sounded ... hurt. "I was only trying to help."

Ryn fought for breath. _Get a grip_. "I know," she said unsteadily. "You just startled me." His touch ran along her nerves like electricity.

"I'm sorry," Anakin said again, letting her go. "I thought ... I could feel you searching, and I thought maybe ..."

"I know," Ryn said. "But I just ... can't find any trace of him."

"Maybe it's because you're still ... you know ..." Anakin suggested.

"So are you," Ryn pointed out. She shifted to rest her forehead against his shoulder. "It still hurts us both."

She could feel Anakin's nod as he raised his hand to her shoulder, stroking his thumb across the end of her collarbone in a familiar gesture. "It will get better," he said.

_Where's your evidence?_ Ryn thought, but that seemed like a pointless question since she already knew he didn't have any. Instead she said, "We need help."

"Time ––" Anakin began, and Ryn shook her head.

"Healers." Ryn and Anakin tightened his grip on her. "I was thinking maybe Gunryth––"

"There you are!" Evinne flitted across the porch in a flash of scarlet that not even the starlight could disguise. Ryn and Anakin twisted to face her, separating reluctantly in the process. Evinne's face in the dimness was grim. "Gear up, Shorty. We could have trouble."

Ryn scrambled to her feet. "What's wrong?"

"Sarta just got a comm from the Dome station," Evinne said. "The shield integrity is fluctuating. We could be looking at a mass evacuation by the end of the night."

Ryn stared. "We couldn't possibly evacuate the entire moon," she said. "There aren't enough ships, and where would the people go? They don't have the skills to survive on Loreth,even if the clans would take them."

"It may not come to that," Evinne said tightly. She didn't sound hopeful. "Either way, Sarta is scrambling the Rangers. I figured you'd want in." She shot Ryn a sharp look. "You remember how this goes?"

"It's like I never left," Ryn said grimly.

"The hell it is," Evinne said. "A year ago you'd have had to come to find me. But for now it doesn't matter. Gear up, and then we'll hit patrol."

There wasn't time to talk about all that had changed. She nodded sharply at Evinne and tapped Anakin on the shoulder. "Come on," she said. "You're with me."


	59. Chapter 59

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Hey, look! I'm getting all artsy and experimental. Heh. Maybe not so much. But I am trying out the present-tense style that worked so well in Stover's ROTS. I thought if fit the mood of the scene, but let me know what YOU think! (Which means ... give me feedback? Please? Hehe.)

**CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE**

This is how the fall begins again:

Anakin follows Ryn upstairs through a crowd of sharply alert beings: their sense of _readiness_ rings against his awareness of them in the Force. Several call out questions in Lorethan as they pass; Ryn raps out answers without breaking stride. She is intensely focused, piercingly bright in the Force.

He watches her change into black ops clothes and strap on weapons, a procedure too fast and focused to be sensual, despite the way her bedroom shimmers with the call of urgent desire in the Force. He can _feel_ it ...

Ryn notices him trailing his fingers over the bed's hangings and grins. "That was a gift from Gunryth when I reached maturity," she says by way of explanation. "The bed coverings are blessed by devotees of the Living Force. They are supposed to enhance ... fulfillment ... but I never got the chance to try them." She catches herself and shakes her head as she tugs her close-fitting black shirt into place. "That's not quite it," she amends. "I could have had plenty of chances. I just never invited anybody up here to find out."

"You were a kid," Anakin says, but he says it without must force because the way she moves is hypnotic: her easy, unstudied grace heals something he hadn't known was broken.

"By your standards," Ryn says, sharply enough to cut through his trance. She straps the bulky utility belt low over her hips and reaches for her lightsaber. "The average life-expectancy of a noble-born Lorethan is twenty-five standard years." She clips the lightsaber in place and grabs a knife –– not a vibroblade, but a wicked-looking dagger the length of her forearm –– and looks straight into his eyes. "I'm more than halfway there."

Her voice is flat, matter-of-fact, but there's no denying the accusation in her pointed stare. She's lonely, and it's his fault for making her wait.

"Don't," Anakin says, hating the pleading in his own voice. "You know I'd change things if I could."

"On the contrary," Ryn says bitingly, "I know you could change things, and you don't. I respect your choice, but I don't have to like it." She secures the knife in her utility belt. "I could change things, too. I could sleep with someone else. I choose not to." She shrugs. "It's the same."

"Ryn," Anakin says, guilty as hell and angry because of it, "You don't have to wait for me. I might never ––"

"What? Want me?" Ryn says, with a wry twist of her mouth. "You _already_ want me, Anakin. You just won't let yourself do anything about it."

"That's a lot of assurance, coming from a woman who's been turned down for sex," Anakin retorts, and then wishes he'd been his tongue out instead.

Ryn doesn't deserve this from him.

But his best friend just grins, a little tired around the edges but relentlessly good-humored. "I know you."

"But I don't––"

"Yeah, you do."

"I'm in love with Padmé," Anakin says, goaded.

"I know," Ryn says, unexpectedly. Her eyes soften with warmth. "You think you can't do both." She offers a rueful shrug. "It doesn't work that way."

Anakin starts to protest, and Ryn cuts him off with a breath of laughter. "_Anakin_."

She sways closer, the scent of incense on her skin intoxicating in the dark, and frames his face with her hands. "When we're finally all right again," she says softly, "I'll show you what I mean." She stretches up to kiss him, ever so lightly, on the mouth. "Until then," she adds, her voice heated and husky and far too knowing for his own good, "you'll just have to trust me. Okay?"

Anakin isn't even sure what her argument is anymore. But if the question is whether he can trust Ryn, he knows the answer without thinking.

"Unnhnnh," he says, leaning forward to taste her teasing mouth, but Ryn dances out of his grip, trailing the scent of spices and sex.

"I'll take that as a yes," she says, almost cheerful. "Good. But tonight, we've got work to do."

"Saving the galaxy," Anakin says, fighting his way back from the heady feelings tugging at him, and the starlight filtering in shows him the edge of Ryn's smile.

"It's what we do."


	60. Chapter 60

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SIXTY**

Ryn, feeling guilty for wasting a minute and a half on her personal life when the galaxy was in crisis, double-timed it down the stairs with Anakin close on her heels. She had the sense that he didn't feel as clearheaded about their brief encounter as she did, but she didn't have the heart left for regrets. If Anakin ever gave her half a chance, Ryn was pretty sure she could give him the ride of his life, and that would be soon enough to make it up to him.

She pushed her way through the crowd to find Sarta, who was snapping off orders to various members of the household in a state of controlled agitation. He stopped when he saw her.

"Ryn, we've got this," he said, taking in her war-gear. "You can go back to your room and ––"

"Spare me," Ryn said. "What's our status?"

Sarta scrubbed his face with one hand. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "We've got Ardel's biochemist in the Dome generator station right now, trying to figure out what's gone wrong, but if he can't fix it ..." He shrugged. "We may not last the night."

But Ryn was having other ideas. "Skywalker is good with––" _his hands_ "––machines. Is it all right if I take a team down to the station myself?"

Sarta stared. "You're traveling with a man named Engine, but _Skywalker_ is good with machines?"

Ryn shrugged. "Life's funny."

Sarta shook his head. "Yeah, fine. Whatever. Just don't get in the way."

Ryn resisted the urge to point out that she wasn't a child anymore, since that would be childish. "Thanks. I'll check in later."

She reversed direction, and Anakin spun on his heel and followed her.

"What was that all about?" he demanded, catching up to her in two long strides.

"I want to go check out this biochemist," Ryn said. "And I want _you_ to check out the generator station. But we should probably try and find Obi-Wan first. If the biochemist is linked to Omega, Obi-Wan will want to be there."

"We can handle it," Anakin said.

"I know," Ryn said. "That's not the point."

"We can't lose time," Anakin insisted.

His concern sounded overdone, but Ryn didn't want to argue. "Compromise."

She stuck out a hand and caught a little girl by the shoulder, dragging her to a halt. "You know who I am?"

The child nodded solemnly. "Areth-ryn Orun, female axis of ––"

"Good," Ryn said shortly. "You know the older Jedi? Kenobi?"

The little girl nodded again.

"Good," Ryn said, equally repetitive. "Go find him and tell him Ryn and Anakin have gone down to the Dome generator station and that he should join us there. Understand?"

Another nod.

"Good," Ryn said, one more time. She released the girl's shoulder. "Go now."

Anakin watched her go as they set off again. "Do people always do what you tell them to?"

"No," Ryn said. She looked around, cupped her hands to her mouth, and shouted, "_Engine!_"

By the hearth, Engine turned to face them, and Ryn pointed at the door and saw him nod and start in that direction.

"You couldn't prove it by tonight," Anakin said.

"Huh?" Ryn said, distracted.

"It looks like people are obeying you left and right."

Ryn shrugged. "So far, so good."

"Ryn!"

"What?"

"You can't hold all this power over living beings and then not care! It's callous."

"I care," Ryn said, mystified. "I'm trying to keep them alive." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "They _know_ me, Anakin."

"So they automatically have to take your orders?" Anakin retorted. "No."

They reached the doorway to find Engine waiting for them; he lifted the leather curtain and led the way outside.

"I don't give orders for the hell of it," Ryn said. She ducked through the opening and turned back for Anakin, pretty sure that whatever was eating at him had more to do with Tatooine than Loreth. "I've put my life on the line for these people. I've gone hungry for them. I've been _tortured_ for them. If they give me trust, it's because I've earned it in blood." She thought about that, then added, "Mostly my own."

Anakin scowled. "Then don't abuse it."

"What do you know about it?" Ryn demanded, her patience straining. She dropped the curtain, but Anakin was too quick; he caught it before it could smack him in the face. "You've been among us less than a day. You've seen me give exactly _one_ order ––"

"Three," Anakin said. "You told me I was on your team and you pointed Engine outside."

"Engine could have said no," Ryn said. "So can you." That stung, but the time for flinching was past. "If you don't want to be on my team, go back inside. I'm sure they can find a place for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Anakin asked darkly, stepping through the doorway to loom over her.

"I think it means _they can find a place for you_," Ryn snapped, exasperated. "Anakin, what's going on? I need you on my side."

Anakin started to speak, caught himself, and said, tightly: "Nothing. I was ... overreacting. Sorry." He gave her a forced smile. "Lead the way."

Another time, she would have made him talk about it. Tonight, the weight of the galaxy hung on their shoulders. Ryn probed his mind cautiously and found him ... _determined_, mostly. Not shaky, at least.

It would have to do, for now.

"Okay," she said slowly. "Let's go, then."


	61. Chapter 61

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE**

They took a shortcut through what looked like the bad part of town, a series of sturdy bothies sunk into the ground for warmth. There was no street to speak of, but Ryn seemed to know where she was going, loping easily between bothies and garden patches, cutting across the town's spiral layout.

They were stopped several times by frightened women who leapt out into their path or waved them down from one side. Usually they wanted news; a few asked Ryn to bless the babies they cradled against their breasts. All of them wanted reassurance.

Watching Ryn bless children was an experience in itself. She did the same thing every time: laying one hand on the infant's forehead, she would close her eyes and hum a wandering tune until she found whatever she was looking for. Then she would chant the blessing, softly, and withdraw, opening her eyes. Anakin could feel the intensity of her focus: it would have impressed Obi-Wan. She looked a little more tired every time she pulled away, but she never said no.

"Is that how you use the Force?" Anakin asked her after the third encounter, falling into a jog between her and Engine.

Ryn shook her head: not _no_, but _I don't know_. "It was part of my training," she said. "Whenever I wasn't fighting, anyway."

"You wanted to be a Healer," Anakin remembered.

"Yeah."

"You would have been good at it."

"Thank you." He could sense the reserve behind her words, but Anakin wasn't sure whether it was fatigue, worry, or lingering resentment for the way he'd spoken earlier. It didn't seem like the time to ask.

* * *

The generator station that kept Fjornel's main biodome operational was located near the center of the town it protected, in a big round building that was wickedly obvious by virtue of being the only plasteel structure in sight.

Ryn sprang up the steps, calling something to the guards, and they were allowed to pass without question. It was further evidence of Ryn's aristocratic power, but this time Anakin managed to keep his mouth shut. What Engine thought was always hard to tell.

Inside, a nondescript human male worked the controls frantically while two tall, muscular Lorethan women –– one with blond hair, one with blue –– prowled the control banks, presumably checking the readouts.

"Status!" Ryn snapped, striding forward to look down over the curved railing into the heart of the commotion.

All three workers turned at the sound of her voice.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, and Anakin searched for his shiver of unease in the Force and couldn't find it.

"Commander Areth'ryn Orun," Ryn said evenly. "I have brought two mechanical engineers, to help."

"I've got all the help I can handle," the man snapped, and Ryn moved to the top of the steps that led down into the control area.

"Then perhaps you should relinquish your post to someone with greater leadership skills."

The man continued flipping switches. "Sure, if you want the entire Dome to come down," he said sourly. "The local technicians haven't been able to do a thing."

"Did I say they were local technicians?" Ryn asked. "For that matter, did you say who _you_ were?"

"Harram Gaelstat," the man said, not looking at her. "I represent Artesian Biochemics."

"Artesian?" Ryn said. "Isn't that a kind of well?"

"I didn't _name_ the company," Gaelstat answered waspishly. "If it doesn't suit your sense of aesthetics, you can take it up with headquarters."

"Uh-huh." Ryn leaned back just enough to catch Anakin's eye, and they understood each other without words.

Ryn eased her lightsaber into her hand and started down the steps, and Anakin followed three steps behind and a long one to the left. Engine trailed him, looking wary.

They reached the foot of the steps and separated, Ryn advancing cautiously on Gaelstat while Anakin circled left to the nearest bank of controls.

"So," Ryn said. "Back to my original question: what's our status?"

But instead of answering, the technician flipped one last switch. He stared at the readouts for a moment in horror –– or what _looked_ like horror, since Anakin still couldn't feel anything from him –– and spat a curse. "The whole system's crashing! I can't stop it –– the power is going to overload! We have to get out!"

He turned for the door, but Ryn was on him before he had made three steps, leaving Anakin to work the controls.

"Sabotage!" Anakin yelled, as the indicator lights began to flash a frantic red. "It has to be!" Sparks flew out of the next console over as Ryn dragged Gaelstat to the floor. _I can't feel him in the Force ... _ Suspicion sharpened into knowledge. "Ryn! It's ––"

"Omega!" Ryn grunted as Omega landed a blow to her jaw.

She rolled to the side as one of the Lorethans drew and swung a lightsaber at her.

"Ryn!" Anakin shouted, but he couldn't help her, because the Force sizzled a warning, and Anakin ducked just in time to avoid a strike from the other Lorethan that would have split him lengthwise if it had landed.

It split the console instead.

"Bodyguards!" Ryn yelled, back-flipping to her feet as Anakin parried a blow. "From Clan Ardel!"

That seemed likely, but Lorethan warriors weren't their only problem. Alarms erupted through the still night air as the Dome's integrity began to fail. Anakin parry-slash-parried, barely keeping up with the ferocity of the attack. Behind him, Engine was yelling curses in Huttese as he tried to reroute power. "Whatever he's done, it was tight!" the older boy yelled. "I can't find a cut-off to drain the overload!"

Sparks flew again, filling the air with the stench of burned wiring. Anakin blocked another overhand chop and saw Ryn beyond the crossed blades, taking a boot to the face and reeling backwards as her attacker hauled Gaelstat –– Omega –– to his feet.

The woman bearing down on Anakin noticed it, too; she broke off and joined her companions in a sprint for the door. Anakin vaulted the railing to follow, but Ryn rushed past him, lightsaber whirling, to attack both warriors at once.

"The Dome!" she shouted. "Anakin, I've got this. Go help Engine!"

Anakin hesitated for one blind instant, all his instincts screaming. He was the better fighter, he couldn't just leave Ryn to take Omega and his Lorethan bodyguard _alone_ ––

"The whole grid's going!" Engine shouted from behind them, and Anakin dove backward over the railing and plunged himself into the machine.

He heard Ryn howl at his back, felt her pain sear the Force, but he kept going. He couldn't save Ryn if the Dome failed.

* * *

Ryn hit the dirt outside already running, despite the burn mark trailing down her left arm. "Granta Omega!" she shouted, because she didn't have much doubt left as to Gaelstat's true identity. "Halt where you are! Surrender, and you will be given –– oof!" She reeled under the sheer force of the latest blow, staggering as she tried to block, and that was bad because there were _two_ of them and only one of ––

The second burning yellow blade met a flash of blue a handsbreadth from her face. "Mind if I join the party?" said a familiarly urbane voice behind her right shoulder.

"Obi-Wan!" Ryn gasped, tearing her lightsaber free only to have to block again. "Granta Omega. He's ––"

"Getting away," Obi-Wan said, as a motor roared to life.

Ryn slashed at the Ardel woman and took the opportunity to snatch a glimpse over Obi-Wan's shoulder, where Omega was gunning a swoop bike to life.

_Stang it._

Ryn moved so fast she didn't even realize she had a plan until she had put it into action.

She slashed again, met the block and snapped a kick into the woman's stomach hard enough to double her over. It would have been the perfect time for a kill strike, but by the time this registered, Ryn was already sprinting after Omega.

He twisted in his seat to fire at her with a hold-out blaster, but Ryn dodged the shots and kept coming.

Omega swerved around a series of huts, adjusted course, and fired over his shoulder again. "Crazy bitch!" he screamed when Ryn didn't slow down. She was gaining on him now, taking advantage of the quick course corrections that kept his swoop bike from reaching straight-line speed. "What do you want?"

"I want my brother back!" Ryn snapped. She dodged another series of bolts that went wild and came doggedly on, eating ground.

Blaster bolts singed the air around her, coming faster now as Omega began to panic. He corrected course again, revved, and glanced back at her.

"What about your friend?" he sneered, alternating glances over his shoulder with rapid steering corrections. "Skywalker. You want to see him alive again?"

Ryn felt her blood run cold. She missed a step and nearly fell. "What ––"

Omega revved again, taunting her because he knew she'd lost her focus. "The Force is strong with him, or so I hear. But I doubt even the Chosen One can survive an explosion powerful enough to take out the entire generator station."

It was her chance. She could have tackled Omega then and there, caught him off-guard while he was gloating.

Except she didn't.

By the time she realized what her choices were, she was already running back the way she had come, driving past her physical limits, bargaining in her heart with the Force, swearing _anythinganythinganything_ if only Anakin could be all right.

She was tearing up the night, faster than she had ever run in her life, but it wasn't going to be enough, she couldn't possibly reach him in time, she was going to be _too late_ ––

Ryn tore through every barrier she had to reach him, ripped through his shields like they weren't there, felt Anakin stagger under the sheer force of her panic.

_Anakin get out now run Anakin RUN ––_

From the center of town, the first explosion billowed into the night.


	62. Chapter 62

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO**

Ryn's screaming panic tore through his mind so hard and fast his shields might not have been there at all. He hadn't known she had that kind of power. He felt a pull, but it wasn't until he lurched sideways that he realized the sheer force of Ryn's warning was trying to haul him bodily out the door. He doubted whether _she_ even knew she had that kind of power.

_I can't go yet, Ryn._

But Ryn wouldn't be this kind of terrified if disaster weren't imminent –– something bigger than what they'd already known was coming.

_That's not good._

"Engine!"

Working knobs feverishly, trying to siphon off power, Engine answered without looking. "Yeah?"

"Look for an incoming power source. Anything that could increase voltage."

Engine gave him a single wild-eyed glance. "This system doesn't have that kind of sophisticated monitoring readout. We'd have to check it manually."

"We don't have the time," Anakin said. He could _feel_ that, even without Ryn's frantic screaming at the edges of his mind. He reached for the big lever in the center of the room. "I'm cutting main power."

"Without the Dome, we'll all die!" Engine shouted, scrambling to stop him.

Anakin shook him off. "If the whole system blows, it will be worse." He flipped the row of power-down switches. "At least this way, we might be able to do a restart." He wrapped both hands around the lever and pulled down, hard.

The lights flashed once and went out. The stink of electrical smoke filled the air as Ryn's warning sharpened to certainty in his mind. Anakin had just time to grab Engine by the shoulders before the shockwave lifted them both and flung them over the railing, toward the door.

* * *

Obi-Wan felt the explosion before it happened, a concussive strike of warning from the Force and then it lit the night behind him. _Anakin._

He couldn't tell whether his Padawan were all right or not; the two Lorethan warriors fighting him gave no time to turn and check the damage. He barely registered Ryn, tearing past him in a Force-sprint that could have probably broken Temple records –– alone, so Granta Omega was either dead or escaped, and Obi-Wan's money was on the latter. But the girl's sudden reappearance provided a distraction; Obi-Wan twirled his blade and the blond Lorethan stumbled back, clutching the stump of her wrist and howling in rage.

"Ryn!" Obi-Wan shouted, but she vanished inside without answering.

The second explosion threw his remaining opponent off-balance badly enough that Obi-Wan managed to dispatch her, too: probably because this was her home, going up in fire and smoke, and it couldn't affect Obi-Wan the same way.

He felt her pass into the Force, but had no time to grieve.

* * *

"_ANAKIN!_" Ryn's scream tore the air, even over the groaning of failing machinery. Anakin could feel her blind terror, but he couldn't reach her through it.

And, truthfully, he wasn't sure he could offer much reassurance, anyway. He was alive, at least; but the same blast that had flung him away from the worst of the heat had pinned him and Engine to the wall, weighted in place by pieces of the control bank.

He groped for Ryn's friend. "Engine?"

"Got ... me ... man," Engine rasped. "I don't think ..." He broke off, coughing wetly, and Anakin knew.

He gave the older boy's shoulder a squeeze anyway. "Ryn's coming," he said, coughing a little himself from the smoke. He could hear her at the doorway, metal protesting as she fought her way inside. "Just hold on."

"Rynza ... nice ... grrl," Engine slurred. "'S pretty. Sh'wanzta ... lay you. I ... c'n tell."

That was mostly gibberish and entirely unhelpful. "Just hang on," Anakin advised him again.

There was a clatter, and then he heard Ryn's voice again: "Anakin!"

_Call for Engine, stang it. He's the one dying._

"We're here!" Anakin yelled.

Footsteps, and then Ryn's high-pitched shriek as a second explosion rattled what was left of the control center. "Anakin?"

"Here!"

He felt her approach, so she must have gotten the message. "Engine?"

_Finally._ "He's here," Anakin said, coughing. "Injured."

Anakin heard Ryn's choking sob over the crackle of fire. "Anakin, I can't –– I can't move any of that without bringing down the whole thing. I can't reach you. I don't –– are you hurt?"

"Not me," Anakin said.

He sensed movement, and then Ryn's voice spoke again, farther away. "Engine? Where does it hurt?"

Engine moaned. "Ever'where."

"Don't say that," Ryn said. Anakin could hear the tears in her voice. "Just ... hold on. I'll get help. Just ––"

"Don't leave me," Engine said pitifully.

"But we need help. Obi-Wan, I left Obi-Wan outside, he can ––"

"_You left Obi-Wan?_" Anakin demanded.

"I –– yes?" Ryn said uncertainly. "He ––"

"Ryn?" Obi-Wan's voice called. There was a clanging noise, and then: "Anakin?"

"Over here!" Ryn shouted. She coughed. "Engine's hurt."

"Star's end," Obi-Wan said. "Under there?"

"Yes."

"Be ready to drag them free when I lift the debris."

"Ready," Ryn said.

Anakin felt hot air on his back as the pressure was lifted. Heard Engine's choking scream of pain. Saw Ryn, out of the corner of his eye, dropping to one knee beside her injured friend.

"Engine, just hang on, okay? Stay with me. Don't go ... _Engine!_"

Anakin still couldn't see much from this angle, but he didn't need to; he could feel Engine's signature wavering in the Force.

"Ryn," Obi-Wan said quietly.

"Just stay right here," Ryn told Engine. "I'll be right back. Just ... stay here."

Engine didn't waste breath telling her he couldn't move and neither did Anakin; he waited until he felt another gust of hot air on the back of his neck and let Ryn drag him free.

"I'm really glad you're okay," Ryn whispered in his ear, and went back to Engine.

"There's nothing you can do," Obi-Wan said, but Ryn shook her head, tight-lipped, and sank to her knees on the ruined floor, cradling Engine's hand in both of hers.

"Come on," she breathed. "Stay with me."

Anakin could feel her concentration tightening, as it had during the blessings, but this time the effect was much stronger. Anakin could feel her channeling strength, not pulling it out of the Force but drawing it up from deep inside, focusing it by sheer will. Ryn crouched over Engine, keening in a series of rising wails that it took Anakin several seconds to recognize as some sort of alien musical scales. She found one note and held it out, her voice hoarse from the electrical smoke, until her breath gave out and Engine lay back, helpless and panting.

"I need ... more power," Ryn gritted, her teeth clenched against the pain Anakin could feel building inside. "Anakin ... help me."

Anakin didn't know what he could possibly do –– he was no Healer, after all, had no talent for it –– but Ryn held out her hand and he locked fingers with her, and suddenly he swayed as his perspective shifted and he saw everything, for just a splintered second, through her eyes too.

He felt Ryn's sense of Engine weakening, was aware from the inside out of her aching weariness, sensed his own youthful vigor as a thing separate, Other. He fell back into his own body as Ryn made herself the link between them. Swayed again, dizzy, as she drew on his strength. Was fully himself again as she poured it into Engine, who coughed blood and gasped again in pain but steadied in the Force, his sense of _aliveness_ no longer wavering.

"There," Ryn rasped, releasing both of them. She pitched forward, drained, and Obi-Wan caught her by the shoulders.

"Easy," he said, even though Anakin was fairly certain he had no idea what had just happened. "Outside." He lifted Engine with the Force and Ryn and Anakin followed, clinging to each other for support as they stumbled outside and more or less fell down the steps.

Evinne was waiting for them at the bottom, doing her own version of crowd control.

"Shorty!" she said when they staggered into view. "What happened?"

"I failed on all counts," Ryn said raggedly. "Let Anakin tell it."


	63. Chapter 63

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Oh, hey, this chapter is a two-fer! Action AND love! Wow!

**CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE**

"So Omega has escaped, our oxygen is soon to follow suit, and we're no closer than we ever were to finding Kit," Evinne summarized disgustedly a few minutes later. "Stang." She looked at Anakin. "You're sure it was sabotage?"

"I don't see what else ––" Anakin began, but Ryn cut him off with a shake of her head.

"He said something, when I was chasing him," she said, her voice barely audible. "Asked me if I ever wanted to see my friend Skywalker alive again. He said ..." She frowned, remembering. "He said he doubted if even the Chosen One could survive an explosion powerful enough to take out the entire station." She turned to look over her shoulder at the building. "But I guess he was just playing me." She shrugged, shoulders hunching miserably as she looked down at her feet. "I fell for it."

"Anyone might have done the same," Obi-Wan told her gently. "You couldn't ––"

"No," Anakin interrupted. Ryn's shoulders just hunched tighter, but Obi-Wan glanced at him in surprise.

Anakin ignored him. "I cut main power when I felt your warning," he said to Ryn. "If the currents had been running, that explosion would have taken out the whole grid and half the town with it. You saved us, Ryn."

Ryn jerked in surprise, her eyes meeting his for the fraction of a second before her face fell again. "It was almost too late for Engine."

"But it wasn't," Anakin said. "You did the best you could. We're still alive, thanks to you. And we _will_ catch Omega and find your brother." He squeezed her shoulder, above the burn mark the lightsaber had left behind. "Don't get discouraged."

Ryn leaned into him, just a little. "Okay," she whispered.

"What I'd like to know," Evinne said, plowing on through the tender moment with no finesse at all, "Is how Omega knew about the Chosen One prophecy. Are Jedi just handing out pamphlets now?"

"Well, no," Obi-Wan began, nettled, but Engine made a croaking noise and waved feebly.

"What is ... a Chosen One?" he rasped. "Did I ... miss something?"

"_The_ Chosen One," Evinne said. "According to Jedi prophecy, a being destined to destroy the Sith and restore balance to the Force. The Jedi Council thinks it could be Skywalker, but Ryn has an unfortunate tendency to turn violent if you mention that, so don't let on that you know."

"Hey!" Ryn protested, and Evinne rolled her eyes.

"Please," she said. "I can't take much more of your standing around, speaking in vague references like it's some big mystery. I know, okay? I've known for weeks. You gave it away during that debacle with the Blades of Light. You cared too much. Someone finally thawed the Ice Queen. About damn time, if you ask me. Maybe if you thawed a little more, you could finally get lai –– oof!" Evinne staggered sideways as Ryn's hand connected with her face. "Truth hurts, don't it?" she laughed roughly, rubbing the handprint along one cheek. "Maybe the reason he ain't interested is you're just too cold to ––"

_Whack!_ said Ryn's hand against her face, and Evinne staggered back the other way.

"You vicious, blood-sucking bitch," Ryn said, with detached precision. "Stop screwing around with my personal life and gone one of your own."

"I _have_ a personal life," Evinne snapped. "I've had ––"

"Countless lovers, I know," Ryn said scathingly. "But not the one you wanted."

"What?" asked Evinne darkly.

"I am not a stand-in for my brother," Ryn said distinctly. "I'm a real person, with feelings of my own. You can't help or hurt Kit through me. And while you may be quite right about my inadequacies, exploiting them won't get you any closer to ––" Ryn broke off with a gasp as a lightning-kick sent her reeling backwards. "Oh, wait, I know this part," she said, clutching her abdomen. "'The truth hurts,' right? Or should I include a few curses for emphasis?"

Evinne advanced on her, eyes burning. "So this is your game, is it?" she demanded. "Just because your knickers are wet for your Jedi pretty-boy ––"

"Hey!" said Anakin, at the same time that Ryn snap-kicked under Evinne's chin.

Evinne whipped her fist toward Ryn's face, missed, but caught Ryn's incoming foot in mid-air and twisted.

Ryn rolled with it, a sharp sideways turn that freed her ankle from Evinne's grip and let her tap the back of her other foot against the side of Evinne's head on the way down.

Evinne went for her then, plunging inside Ryn's guard with a fierce growl that stirred the hair at the back of Anakin's neck.

She tried to get a chokehold on Ryn, who broke it with an inside spin that brought her elbow up under the line of Evinne's jaw.

The older girl's retribution sent Ryn flying.

"Ryn!" Anakin cried, starting forward, but Obi-Wan caught him by the shoulder.

"Wait," his master insisted. "We need an opening."

Evinne flung Ryn back into the steps, hard enough that the younger girl rebounded and rolled off. She was still conscious enough to kick Evinne in the stomach when she moved in, and backflipped to send Evinne reeling back with a quick series of blows to the gut.

Then Evinne got her breath back and spun, in a move so fast Anakin couldn't quite catch it, throwing Ryn to the ground and leaping on top of her.

"Master!"

"Wait for it," Obi-Wan instructed him.

Ryn rocked backwards, turned the two of them for a somersault that pounded Evinne's head against a rock and broke her hold. She was on Ryn again in a heartbeat, but this time the younger girl was ready, and she sent Evinne flying, past the standing Jedi.

"Now, Anakin!"

Obi-Wan darted forward to grab Ryn by the shoulders, and Anakin snagged Evinne before she could regain her momentum.

"Not everybody is as pathetic as you!" she yelled, apparently determined to attack Ryn with words if not with fists.

"_I know that!_" Ryn shouted back, wrenching against Obi-Wan's arms. "But I would do it all again. You hear me? _I'd do it all again!_"

"Fool!" Evinne spat, still bucking against Anakin's hold.

"_At least I'm not lying to myself_!" Ryn leaned into the grip Obi-Wan had on her wrists, but she wasn't really fighting any more. She spat blood. "I've always known I was doomed. But at least I've never tried to hide the truth by playing with other people's feelings." She laughed harshly. "I may be a fool, but I _own_ it."

"You're not a fool, Ryn," Anakin began, and then cut off with a grunt as Evinne got an elbow under his ribs.

"Yes, I am," Ryn said. She sounded tired. "I just don't care." She locked gazes with Evinne; Anakin could feel the Lorethan go suddenly still in his arms as she met that stare. "Do you?"

"I won't be a fool for any man," Evinne growled, and brought her foot down on Anakin's instep.

Anakin caught Ryn's wince of sympathy. "You already are," she said quietly. She craned her neck to look at Obi-Wan. "You can let me go now. I won't fight."

Obi-Wan looked doubtful. He glanced at the struggling Evinne. "What about you?"

"Fine!" Evinne snarled. "Whatever."

Anakin let her go, warily. She spun immediately and kneed him in the groin, a swift blur of motion that doubled him over, retching.

"Serves you right," she hissed, and stormed away.

Ryn limped over to take his arm and help him upright. "Ouch," she said. "Here." She pressed one bloodied hand to the bare skin at the nape of his neck and frowned in concentration, and Anakin felt the sickening pain ease, just a little. "Better?"

Anakin nodded. "Thanks," he gasped.

"S okay." Ryn rubbed small, comforting circles on his back. "Sorry about ... all that."

Anakin gave in and bent over again, bracing his hands on his knees. "Yeah," he wheezed. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay," Ryn said, looking worried anyway. "You need anything?"

"I'll be ... all right," Anakin managed. "Just ... give me ... a minute."

"Okay," Ryn said, showing some belated respect for his dignity by turning him loose. "Call if you need me?"

_For what?_ Anakin thought uncharitably, but he kept his teeth together and just nodded.

_Force, what a night._


	64. Chapter 64

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR**

Ryn was worried about Anakin, and Engine, and Evinne, but there were an awful lot of people she had to worry about at the moment, so she figured maybe it was best to spread the angst around a little.

She limped to the doorway of the generator station and looked inside finding the central room eerie in the wavering torchlight of the volunteers who had come running at the first explosion. The damage looked significant, but Ryn couldn't tell how much was systemic and how much really only affected the control banks, many of which had been destroyed in the blasts. If the damage was systemic, then the best they could hope for was to get everybody packed into the spaceport or one of the smaller domes before the atmosphere gave out completely. But if it was localized to the control area, they might be able to run some functions manually until they could make better repairs.

The steps she'd taken earlier were gone now, torn loose in the blast. Ryn eased her way out onto the shaky platform and hopped down. Glass crunched under her boots.

"Status!" she rapped out, even though probably nobody there knew any more about repairing a biodome generator than she did.

Sometimes people just wanted to feel like someone was in charge. Even if that didn't actually change anything.

Ryn would have felt better if _someone_ hadn't been her, but that wasn't part of the deal.

A middle-aged woman with an Outer Rim accent stepped forward. "Milady ..."

"It's Commander," Ryn said. "Commander Areth'ryn Orun. You know machines?"

"A little, mil –– Commander."

"What can you tell me?" Ryn nodded at the general mess.

"There has been ... an explosion." _No, really?_ Ryn thought, but she waved her hand for the woman to continue. "Um. Well, it seems not to have come from within the system. I can't find a source. And main power has been shut off, manually if I'm reading these controls right. Well. What's left of them, anyway."

"No, that's right," Ryn told her. "Padawan Skywalker shut power in hopes of minimizing the damage."

The woman stared at her. "Padawan. That's, uh, some kind of Jedi, right?"

"A Jedi apprentice," Ryn said. "Yes."

She shifted nervously. "I thought as how them Jedi didn't come out this far." She swallowed. "'S what I was told."

"This is a special case," Ryn said, but the woman's nervousness abraded her senses: clearly, she had some reason to avoid contact with the Jedi. It wasn't all that unusual, amongst the foreigners who had found their way to Loreth's moon. "They don't have any jurisdiction outside the Republic anyway," she added, and felt the woman's tension ease a little. "Padawan Skywalker will likely be helping with repairs, however," she went on cautiously, trying to probe the woman's signature for any sense of deception, "so if you would rather not be working with the Jedi, I can probably find some other work for you to do."

The woman's face closed. "Didn't say that, now did I?"

Whatever she was hiding, it was buried deep. But Ryn couldn't sense any guilt in her, and none of the fierce tension she'd expect of someone actually involved in the destruction, so she let it go. "Fine," she said, with a touch of asperity. "Fjornel will be grateful for your help. Can you trace the explosion to its source?"

The woman shrugged bony shoulders. "With enough time and hands."

"Hands we have," Ryn told her. "Time might be short."

When Anakin staggered into the control station ten minutes later, still fighting a groan with every haggard step, he found Ryn engineering the construction of a new lighting plan, bracing torches into the wreckage at intervals so that they lit the control room with its tangled mess of burnt wiring. The solution was so practical and yet somehow incongruous, flaming torches set in the midst of battered technology –– it was so _Ryn_ that Anakin had to bite back a snort of disbelieving laughter.

Ryn looked up as he crossed to what was left of the railing.

"Hey," she said, standing still with both arms over her head to hold a torch in place while a boy about Anakin's age worked to secure it.

"Hey," Anakin answered, with a tentative smile.

Ryn shifted her grip to give the boy better access for whatever he was doing to keep the torch where it belonged. Anakin could just make out the concern in her eyes through the flickering shadows cast by the torchlight. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Anakin said, manfully suppressing a wince. "I'll be fine." _Eventually._

Ryn didn't look all that reassured, but she nodded cautiously. "So ... you ready to come take charge of this mess? Because I'm a little out of my element, here."

Anakin glanced around the control room, stinking of electrical burns, and then at Ryn, wholesome and earthy in the middle of it. _No kidding._ "Right." He jumped off the platform and let the Force cushion his landing and absorb his yowl pain. "What have we got?"

Dawn found them covered in soot and shivering with cold, panting as the air grew thinner. Across the room, Ryn leaned back from tugging damaged cables free and wiped straggles of dark hair out of her face, leaving a dirty smudge in her cooling sweat. Seeing him looking, she offered a tired little smile and a flick of her fingers in acknowledgement. "You okay there?" she called to him.

Caught, Anakin found himself grinning sheepishly. "Yeah. Better all the time."

Ryn cocked a skeptical eyebrow.

"Slight exaggeration," Anakin said, caving. "But I'm okay."

Ryn nodded and rocked to her feet, gathering her bundle of electrical cables along the way. "I think that section's clear now," she said, grunting a little as she tried to wrestle the cables onto the cart brought in for that purpose. "I didn't find any more charges."

They'd found three so far, exploded in places where they could have destroyed the entire station if they had met a live power feed, but luckily they hadn't. The damage to the wiring itself, however, was considerable.

"Good work," Anakin told her. "You need a break?"

Ryn smiled tiredly at him. "A change is as good as a rest. Put me to work."

He'd been putting her and everybody else to work all night. As the ranking Lorethan present –– with Sarta organizing an emergency relocation of the civilian populace to the nearest protected areas and Gunryth caring for the wounded and frightened –– Ryn had authorized him to begin an overhaul of the biodome's generator system that –– he hoped –– could have it back up to spec within the day. Then she'd pitched in herself, leading tirelessly by example, lending her strength to the dirtiest menial tasks as if determined to disprove every contemptuous opinion Anakin had ever held about the inherited aristocracy.

Except this wasn't Ryn trying to prove a point. This was just Ryn ... being Ryn. This was who she was. This was what she did.

Six months in the Jedi Temple were just an anomaly.

She pulled a rag out of her utility belt now and sauntered over to him, wiping her hands. "So?" she queried, her smile easing into real warmth as she met his eyes. "What have you got for me?"

That smile hit him in the chest and spread until Anakin could feel the impact everywhere. "Ryn ..."

"What?"

But there wasn't anything else, just her. "Nothing. Sorry."

Ryn shook her head at him. "You're a mess," she said fondly, and reached up to wipe a smudge of dirt from his cheek.

The contact was warm and real and unexpectedly intimate. Words died in Anakin's throat as he stared into her bright eyes, shining with love for him, and the galaxy faded away. They drew closer: almost involuntarily, yielding to their own gravity, falling together.

"Ryn," Anakin whispered again, and this time she answered, breathless.

"_Anakin_."

Her lips parted as he leaned closer, and Anakin reached for her because love and safety and everything he'd ever need was _right there_ ...

A shriek of laughter gave him pause; Anakin frowned and ignored it, reached for her again, tracing the sharply beautiful contours of her familiar face with his bruised and dirtied hands.

She looked like home.

This time there was a sharp tug that jerked Ryn sideways, breaking eye contact, and they looked down in unison.

"Awethwyn!" Aw'eyn!" A grubby little child maybe three or four years old was pulling at Ryn's lightsaber hilt as though it were a handle. When she saw that she had their attention, she beamed, showing gap-toothed delight, "Aweyn!"

"Yes?" said Ryn, cautiously willing to accept this new designation.

"I'm your cousin!"

"Are you?" Ryn inquired. She sounded mildly surprised.

"Yes!" the little girl exclaimed triumphantly.

Ryn gently pried her fingers from the lightsaber hilt. "In what degree?"

"My grandsire's grandsire was your grandsire's father."

"Ah," said Ryn, evidently following this. "It is good to meet you, then."

The little girl grinned, clearly ecstatic. "Yes!"

"And what is your name?" Ryn prompted, when the child did not explain further.

"Catha!"

Ryn offered Catha a deep bow in the Lorethan fashion, palms together. "I take it you know me already. This is my friend and sword-brother, Anakin Skywalker."

The little girl shifted her attention to Anakin, regarding him with round eyes, taking him in.

Finally she looked back at Ryn. "Are you going to marry him?"

Ryn did a pretty good job of hiding her sudden spike of unease, piercing in the Force, behind a teasing grin. "Only if he asks nicely."

It was Ryn's way of letting him off the hook, and he knew it.

Catha pondered this for a second, then raised her arms and said, "Up!"

Anakin saw the beginnings of a frown cross Ryn's profile, but she bent and lifted the child, hoisting her with strong slender arms.

"Better?" she asked.

Catha nodded, put her mouth to Ryn's ear, and whispered.

"Ah." Ryn turned to face Anakin, not quite managing to hide a smile. "Catha would like to touch your Padawan braid."

Anakin blinked. "What? Why?"

Ryn bounced Catha into a more comfortable position on her hip. "She's never seen one before," she pointed out reasonably.

"Uh." Anakin took a step away from the console he'd been trying to rewire. "Okay."

Ryn twisted so that Catha, facing over her shoulder, could reach out and run one small, grimy hand down Anakin's Padawan braid. Anakin stood still and let her conduct her examination. She seemed especially fascinated by the beads, but Anakin guessed that was probably normal a child her age.

She concluded by giving the braid a little pat. "You look like sunshine," she informed him judiciously, and Anakin glanced automatically at Ryn's profile and saw her bite her lip to keep from laughing.

"You're too small to be in here alone," she told the little girl, mirth threading through her voice. "Who has charge of you?"

Catha scowled. "I'm a big girl now."

"Not that big," Ryn said. "Who?"

Catha pointed to the doorway. "Madriel," she said mournfully. "But she's busy."

Ryn's mouth tightened. "I'll bet she is," she muttered, serious now. Glancing at Anakin, she said, "I have to take care of this. I'll be back."

That was probably good. Another minute or two and they might have done something really rash. Anakin watched her go and tried not to feel disappointed.

He kicked the console in a breach of Jedi discipline. It shuddered unhappily in reproach, and he sighed.

_Back to work._


	65. Chapter 65

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE**

Ryn pressed her knuckles into the small of her back and arched, trying to ease the ache there, but it didn't help much. After enough hours of manual labor, nothing helped but rest.

She and Anakin and a selection of helpers had been at it all night and most of the next day, scrambling to put together a fix that would keep them all from suffocating while Sarta managed an evacuation and Evinne and Obi-wan scoured the nearby space lanes for Omega –– there weren't a lot of places he could go, after all.

They hoped.

In the meantime, Ryn had been concentrating on being a good leader by working harder than everyone else, and a good friend by not jumping Anakin's bones, and no kind of lover at all by ignoring the little tug she felt down low every time she thought of him, which was pretty much constantly.

Loreth's sun was setting on Fjornel, the long day ending in a wash of red and gold, and Ryn shaded her eyes and looked across the bleakly beautiful landscape.

"You're tired," Anakin said behind her.

Ryn twisted to glance at him over her shoulder. "So are you."

Anakin sighed. "Yeah."

There wasn't much to say to that. The biodome was holding, for now, but they'd both be a lot tireder before Omega was in custody.

Ryn turned back to look at the sunset. "I had a report from Gunryth, maybe half a standard hour ago. The evacuation is complete. Or at least, they've pulled out everybody they're going to move. Children, mostly."

She sensed Anakin's nod. "The local techs tell me the biodome integrity is back up to where it was before the attack, not that that's anything to write home about. We're not going to get it any better. Your filtration system is shot, so the only way to keep the air from becoming toxic is to reduce field integrity so pollutants can escape. The lighter ones, anyway. There's nothing I can do about anything that's heavier than carbon dioxide. You'll have to move people out of the low-lying areas until we can restore power to that system."

"Power," Ryn repeated. "What kind of efficiency are we looking at?"

She didn't like the twinge of dismay in Anakin's presence. "It's bad, Ryn. The whole system needs an overhaul, maybe about three centuries ago." He dragged a filthy sleeve across his face. "Without parts, I can give you maybe seventy percent by tomorrow. Find me a hydrostatic filter, and we can do a little better. But you need upgrades in every subsystem. As near as I can tell, nothing was working quite right even _before_ the explosion blew it all to hell. I can piece together a system that will _work_, but ..." He shrugged.

"But we need more," Ryn finished for him. She sighed, feeling the weight of all the people she would fail to take care of pressing down on her. "There's no money to do any better," she said wearily. "And we don't have the technicians to do a real overhaul and upgrade anyway." She rubbed her eyes; they felt gritty, but it was probably just the exhaustion. How many days since she'd slept? She was losing count. "I can see why Sarta and even Stevan would be eager to take Omega's offer at face value."

"That doesn't make it right," Anakin said.

Ryn shrugged, too weary to argue with him. "Desperate people will believe anything."

"We'll catch Omega," Anakin said. "He won't be abel to exploit your people any more."

Ryn shook her head, staring down the slope toward the forest at the edge of the city, now probably doomed like its sisters. "That won't help Fjornel much."

"It has to be better to protect your people from Omega," Anakin offered.

Ryn wondered who he was trying to convince. "The whole galaxy needs saving from Omega," she acknowledged. "I'm just saying the Fjornellein have problems that won't be fixed by getting rid of him, and if we'd been able to play his game a little longer, they might have gotten the upgrades they needed. I doubt he could have held onto his ruse here for long if he hadn't been doing some good."

"It was all part of his cover," Anakin insisted.

Ryn shrugged again. "People who need oxygen don't much care where it comes from."

"That's ––"

Ryn put her hand on his arm. "They're scared, Anakin. I can't blame them. Can you?"

Anakin ducked his head a little. "You never blame anyone."

Ryn wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean; she let it rest for now, like so many other things. "I could probably blame Omega," she said instead.

Anakin took her hand from his arm and held it in both of his, rubbing a calloused thumb over her palm. "I know. I'm sorry."

Ryn blinked at him. "Why?"

"Because your people are suffering. I can feel how much it hurts you." He tucked in his lower lip, the way he did when he was thinking hard. "If the Jedi had caught him sooner, he couldn't have ––"

"Anakin, stop." Ryn took a step closer and lifted her free hand to press her fingers against his lips. "Don't think like that. There's no point to arguing in what-ifs."

"I'm sorry," Anakin murmured against her fingers, the vibrations tickling her sensitive skin. "You're right. I just don't like to feel you worry."

Ryn traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. "It's not your fault," she reminded him.

Anakin nodded, but he didn't quite manage to hide the shadow of pain in his eyes. "I know."

There wasn't much comfort Ryn could offer, except promises of capturing Omega they both knew might be a long time never come true. So she did the best thing she could; she wrapped her arms around Anakin's waist and leaned into him, let him feel the warmth of her affection.

For a second he just stood there, stiff and awkward, all Jedi. Then he buried his face in her hair and hugged her back, clutching her tighter as the breath shuddered through his chest.

"Sh," Ryn whispered, rubbing her palm in slow circles over the knotted muscles of his back and vigorously rejecting treacherous thoughts of running her hands down his back in any other context. "It's okay," she said, trying to stay on track. "We're safe for now. You hear me? You did that. We couldn't have repaired the Dome without you." He shuddered again, Anakinspeak for _it was a close thing_, and Ryn stood on tiptoe to press her face into his neck –– six months ago he'd been hardly taller than her, how did he grow so fast? –– and murmur, "It's all right, _Kaïnen_. It's all right. We're all fine here."

Anakin breathed in hard. She could feel him fighting for control over his unruly emotions. "You could have died tonight," he said roughly, his voice muffled by her hair.

"So could you," Ryn reminded him. "But we're both still here and still together. We're doing okay."

Anakin stilled. He felt ... wary. "You shouldn't have come back for me," he said slowly. "That's attachment. A Jedi would have gone after Omega."

"I'm not a Jedi," Ryn said, and felt him relax a little, as though he'd just needed the reassurance. "Besides. If you want to save the galaxy, you have to start someplace." She hugged him a little tighter. "I started with you."

Anakin felt ... thoughtful. Ryn held him close and let him work through whatever was bothering him.

"If you hadn't warned me," he said at last, slowly, "I wouldn't have shut off the power supply. I wouldn't have known to look for something more than a power surge until it was too late. The whole station could have been destroyed." He tensed again; Ryn felt his shifting concentration as he tried to release his feelings into the Force. "If you had denied your attachments, we'd all be dead right now." He sounded troubled. "So are the Jedi teachings wrong? I don't know what to believe anymore. _How do I know_?"

Ryn did the rubbing-circles thing again while she tried to think of an answer. "I don't know," she said finally, aware that it wasn't nearly enough. "I never had to think about it like that, because I never really expected the Jedi to be right all the time. Or, you know, ever." She got a shaky laugh for that. "But I think we just listen to our consciences and do the best we can."

Anakin's arms tightened around her. "What if your conscience is unclear?"

Ryn rested her chin on his shoulder, trying to imagine a life in which you could never know whether you were doing right or wrong. The sheer restless conflict. "I don't know," she said softly. "There wasn't a lot of uncertainty in my life until you came along."

Anakin stiffened. "I'm sorry," he began, but Ryn shook her head against his shoulder.

"Hush," she said. "It wasn't like that. You were a _good_ thing." Her voice broke on a sob that took her by surprise. "Sometimes I think you were the first good thing that ever happened to me."

"Sh," Anakin said, his turn to be comforting. He petted her hair, a little awkwardly. "Sh. It's all right."

_It's not really,_ Ryn thought, but she let herself relax into Anakin's embrace embrace, taking what she could.

It was all either of them was ever likely to get.

Eventually, Anakin rubbed his thumb in the hollow of Ryn's waist and she stirred. "We should get back," she murmured, reluctant to let him go.

Anakin squeezed her briefly. "Yeah."

Ryn pulled her face out of his dirty tunic to cock an eye at the fading brilliance on the horizon. "Obi-Wan and Evinne should have sent in another set of reports by now."

"Maybe they've contacted Gunryth," Anakin suggested.

"Could be." She felt cold where she'd separated from Anakin, missing the warmth of his body. She resisted the urge to snuggle her way back into his arms. There was a galaxy out there, waiting: they couldn't hide in each other forever. "I guess the way to find out is to back in there and ask."

Anakin offered her his arm with a quirky grin. "Allow me to escort you, milady?"

Ryn slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Always, Master Skywalker."


	66. Chapter 66

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's notes: This chapter for Kelaria, who was unduly encouraged by Anakin's personal growth in the last one ...

**CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX**

Ryn came and found him a couple of hours later, studying the biodome's schematics.

"Hey," she said softly, laying a hand on his back and leaning in. "You should get some rest." She gestured to the reworked, stripped-down station around them. "It's working, for now. Take a break. Shower. Sleep."

"I can fix this," Anakin said stubbornly. "I know I can."

"Take a look around," Ryn said. "You did fix it."

"I can do better."

"If you say so, I believe you," Ryn said. "But it's not an emergency any more. So come away from here, take a shower –– I know a place –– and sleep for a few hours." She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. "The galaxy will not end because you take a nap."

Anakin frowned down at her, her easy affection. "You're different here," he said wonderingly. "Warmer."

"Mmm," Ryn said, noncommittal. "I'm learning how to be myself." She grinned mischievously. "Wake me in the morning and I'll show you how _much_ warmer." She caught his hands and began tugging him away from the console. "Shower, then sleep. Unbridled sex later, if you want it." She pulled him toward the door.

"That's _not_ what I meant," Anakin began, but Ryn cut him off with a grin.

"No, but it's what _I_ meant," she contradicted cheerfully. "I want you. Is that so awful?" She stopped and released his hands to grab hold of the ladder they'd brought in to lead up to ground level, and twisted on the first rung to look down at him, relentlessly good-humored. "I hear some men like that sort of thing."

Anakin smiled back, despite the tightness in his chest. "It's not awful. It's just ... you _know_ I can't ..."

"Okay," Ryn said, when it became obvious that he wasn't going to say what it was he couldn't do.

She started climbing and Anakin followed, bemused.

"That's it?" he asked her halfway up the ladder, feeling he might be missing something here. "Just ... okay?"

"What did you expect me to say?" Ryn asked. "'Fuck or die'?"

Anakin missed a step, throwing the ladder off-balance. Ryn caught the edge of the platform and dragged it back in place with a grunt of effort and twisted around to glare at him over her shoulder. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," Anakin said. "I just ... you startled me."

"By not trying to rape you? Thanks a lot!"

"No!" Anakin could feel his cheeks burning. "I just ... thought you'd be more upset. That's all."

Ryn snorted. "You think you're that special?"

"What?" Anakin said. "No! I just ... why are you acting this way?"

Ryn stepped off the ladder and crouched at the edge o the platform, her expression twisting into wryness. "Because I want less angst in my life?" she suggested, holding out a hand to help him up. She rocked to her feet as Anakin cleared the last rungs. "Let me know if you change your mind."

Anakin shook his head and let her lead him out into the town.

* * *

instead of heading back up the slope toward Sarta's house –– "the big house" Ryn called it –– she led the way around a curve of the town's spiral until they found a wide stone building with pipes crossing over its roof. There were two female attendants at the door; Ry flicked her fingers at them in a gesture of acknowledgement and spoke briefly. She received an equally terse response and walked inside. Frowning, Anakin nodded to the attendants and followed her.

They stepped through the doorway into a moss garden, laid out under a shaded skylight that must allow soft lighting during the day. With the sun down, however, torches flickered along the walls. Ryn took a path that hugged one wall and ascended a short flight of steps into a wood-paneled corridor.

"What is this place?" Anakin asked her quietly.

"The public baths," Ryn answered. She reached into a shelf set along the wall and pulled down a soft robe and pushed it into his hands. "I thought you might prefer this to another copper-tub bath with Bridein." She hesitated, one hand holding a second robe. "If you'd rather ––"

"No," Anakin said quickly. "This is fine."

Ryn nodded, her presence tinting with relief, and handed him a towel.

He followed her to the end of the corridor, where they were met by another attendant, a silver-haired woman with surprisingly smooth skin and an aura of power and self-possession.

"Arethy'ryn," she said, as Ryn bowed. "And this is Padawan Skywalker, yes?"

"Yes," Ryn said; but Anakin could feel her spike of anxiety.

"Mmm, I sense power," the woman said, her voice dropping throatily. She closed her eyes and reached out as though to touch him, but suddenly Ryn was in the way, standing between them.

"We came for a shower," she said, her voice taking on a hard edge.

The woman dropped her hand. "Of course," she murmured, rebuked, and opened her eyes to reveal pupils so dilated that the ring of blue surrounding them was practically invisible. "This way."

Anakin shivered; the woman's behavior by itself wasn't terribly alarming, but anything that made Ryn this tense had to be a bad sign.

She led them into a long, tiled room with spigots set into the walls at head-high intervals. A long counter with shelves underneath ran down the center of the room, terminating in a clothes 'fresher at the far end.

"Will you be needing ––"

Ryn made a slight gesture with two fingers and the woman left them, dismissed.

"You were rude to her," Anakin accused.

Ryn shook her head, probably at his ignorance of Lorethan ways. "Althmarya was banished from the Temple of the Living Force for her obsession with powerful Force-sensitives. Do you know what you have to _do_ to get expelled from our Temple?" Ryn shuddered. "Her rituals of sexual possession are legendary. She's been gone a generation, and they still talk about her. One boy almost died." She tiled her head to one side. "Not that he complained."

"Um," said Anakin, glancing nervously at the door.

"I think she has to actually be touching you for the rituals work," Ryn said, noticing his concern. "I mean, people come in here all the time and she doesn't bother them. Just ... no sense taking chances."

"Okay," Anakin said.

He followed her to the counter and tried not to watch her strip, which was hard because she took such obvious pleasure in removing her grimy clothes.

He was doing pretty well until her underwear landed by his foot, blue and lacy and not at all Ryn's usual style.

"Sorry," she said, naked and unperturbed. "Hand me those, will you? And your clothes, too. I'll put them in the 'fresher."

Anakin bent and picked up her underwear, silky in his fingers, still warm from her skin and possibly just a little damp ... there.

He thought about where they'd been and suddenly found himself a little dizzy.

Ryn stretched to take the underwear, lean and lithe and unselfconscious. She had to tug twice to get them out of his hand. "Your clothes?" she prompted. "If you finish undressing, I can clean them."

"Oh." Anakin felt himself blushing. "Right." He turned his back to her and shucked his clothes in two swift moves, bundled them without looking, and held them out to her, trying to figure out which part of the Code applied so he could recite it.

He was distracted by Ryn's soft, startled gasp.

He jerked his eyes to hers and found them wide and dark with something he instinctively recognized as desire.

"Uh." Ryn shook her herself and remembered to take the clothes. "You ... look really good naked." She backed up a step. "Really good. Really." She turned and hurried down the room to the clothes 'fresher, and Anakin tore his eyes off the sway of her departing ass and tried to breathe.

He had himself in hand again –– figuratively speaking –– by the time Ryn got back, and he'd managed to locate the soap, so he tossed her a package wrapped in some unfamiliar substance that looked vaguely like flimsiplast but wasn't. After that, figuring out the shower controls was easy, and for a few minutes they didn't say anything, just lathered up in companionable silence.

What broke the mood was Ryn's hiss of pain as the bacta rinsed off her arm; Anakin looked up to see her standing still, teeth gritted, hand braced against the wall as the spray dissolved the coating Gunryth had spread over the lightsaber burn earlier.

Anakin felt like a cad for forgetting she was wounded. "You okay?" he asked her, leaning out from under his own spigot to hear her answer.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ryn said, but her voice sounded tight. "It just stings a little."

_A lot,_ Anakin thought, but he said, "Can I do anything?"

Ryn shook her head, sending water droplets flying. "Not unless you have some skills in Healing I don't know about."

"Um ... no," Anakin admitted, and Ryn turned under the spray to rest her back against the wall, eyes closing.

"Then don't worry about it," she said. "It's getting better, anyway."

Anakin could feel that this was true: the bright-hot flare of pain was fading into a dull ache. That was good, because he didn't want Ryn to hurt; but it was also bad, because now that his worry over her pain was subsiding, he was beginning to notice other things about her, and it was getting harder to look away.

"You're staring," Ryn said finally, even though her eyes were still closed under the running water.

"Uh," said Anakin, caught. "Sorry."

Ryn grinned under the spray. "I don't really mind. Just wondering whether that means I get to look, too."

Anakin practically choked on his own tongue, trying to come up with a reason for _no_ that didn't sound like _because I'm hard as a rock_.

"I already know that part," Ryn said without opening her eyes, and Anakin realized he'd been projecting his thoughts all over the place.

"Um, no, it's not ..." he fumbled, mortified.

Ryn rolled her head against the tile to look at him, finally opening her eyes, staring straight into his. She held up the bar of soap between two fingers. "Wash my hair?"


	67. Chapter 67

Disclaimer: I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Dedication: This chapter is for Estora, who wanted Ryn to make a difference. They're not quite there.

**CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN**

He liked everything about her body.

Somehow when he'd thought about women before –– _Padmé_, his traitorous heart whispered, thudding against his ribs –– he had thought of softness. Ryn was lean and taut, austerely beautiful ... and he liked it. He traced the outline of her shoulder blades beneath light muscles with a soapy finger and felt his cock leap in response.

"I didn't know you were this kind of beautiful," he murmured, too awed to think about what he was saying.

Ryn craned her neck to look at him, soapsuds sliding down the sharp curve of her cheekbone. "What kind is that?"

Anakin trailed his fingers down her back, feeling strength and life and _Ryn_, so heady he could almost taste her. "Like a desert night."

She gave him a puzzled frown, probably thinking she didn't really resemble either sand or planetary rotations, but it wasn't like that.

"You _feel_ the same," Anakin tried to explain. "Like looking at the stars." Beauty so sharp it etched longing into his soul. "You know?"

Ryn shook her head, smiling faintly, and twisted to rest her hand over his heartbeat. "No, but I can feel what it means to you." She glanced up at him from under sparkling-wet lashes. "Thank you."

She turned back around and Anakin dragged himself partway back to reality –– _away_ from reality, reality was this unmediated sweetness, experience not diminished by words –– and started lathering her hair.

Ryn had a lot of hair –– long and thick, the one wildly luxuriant thing about her –– so Anakin wasn't surprised that washing it took a while. He _was_ a little surprised by the tactile pleasure of the task. He didn't quite know what to make of the way sexual tension relaxed into easy intimacy as he grew used to the silky-wet feel of her hair in his hands, the way it contrasted with the texture of her skin, a different kind of smoothness.

Her voice startled him when she spoke. "I've never been in here when the showers were empty," she said softly. She traced one finger along a crack in the tile. "Usually there are people. Talking, laughing, making out a little."

"Ew," said Anakin, and Ryn twisted again, just enough to let him glimpse the angle of her eyebrow, cocked inquisitively.

"You think making out is gross?"

There was a land mine somewhere in this conversation; Anakin could feel it. Treading carefully, he said, "In public, yeah."

He felt the shift when Ryn changed tactics; discarding whatever fight she'd been about to pick, she said instead, "I don't understand the way you think about sex." her shoulders rose and fell in an exhalation that wasn't quite a sigh. "I mean, I know you don't want to get a girl pregnant, and I know you've ... witnessed some awful things. I know a lot about what you _don't_ want. But what would feel _right_ to you?"

Anakin fought back a wince. He really couldn't think of anything he'd like to discuss less, and yet he couldn't exactly refuse: if there was anybody in the galaxy who had a right to ask him about this, it had to be Ryn.

"I'm not sure it's ever right for a Jedi," he said slowly –– meaning sex and hoping Ryn would know. "I mean, Master Obi-Wan talks about consensual pleasure, but ... I think there should be more." In a lower voice he added, "Mom said there should be more."

"Oh, _Kaïnen_," Ryn said. He still didn't know what that name meant, but he could feel the weight of her sympathy. "What did Shmi say?"

There was too much to tell, about love and family and the importance of taking care of each other. Anakin searched for a place to begin, got lost, and finally blurted, "Sex isn't fair."

"Huh?" said Ryn. She was facing away from him, but Anakin could hear her puzzled frown in her voice.

"Sex isn't fair," Anakin repeated. "A man can't get pregnant, and most venereal diseases pose a greater health risk for women." He was pretty sure he didn't want to be discussing this with Ryn while naked, but her curiosity felt somehow urgent: this wasn't Ryn just making conversation. It was important to her, for reasons he couldn't begin to guess. "Mom always used to say that meant that men had a greater responsibility to ... take care of their partners. To make sure it was right."

He pushed Ryn gently forward under the spray, to rinse the soap out of her hair. Probably she could have done that part by herself easily enough, but Anakin followed anyway.

"Okay," she said thoughtfully. "So how does that work?"

"I don't know," Anakin admitted. "I mean, I'm not sure. When I was a kid, I thought it meant ... not having sex. Never asking another being to go through that. But Mom said that wasn't it, that love made it right." He sighed, watching the soap suds swirl away. "I guess maybe she was going to tell me more when I was older. But then I ... left ... and Master Obi-Wan ... sees things differently."

"It's the way he was raised," Ryn said, plainly trying hard to be fair. "I'm sure he's a considerate partner."

"Yeah, I guess so." Anakin raked his fingers through her hair, trying to remove the last of the soap, and wondered how she ever managed to wash it on her own. "It's just ... the Jedi don't really have to live with the consequences of their actions, you know? They just move on to the next mission. I don't think you should have sex unless you're ready to take responsibility for your actions." He trailed his fingers down her back one last time, marveling once again at the miracle of the way she was made, all that strength and vitality in such a deceptively fragile package.

Ryn was silent for so long he thought she'd abandoned the conversation. Anakin was about to go back to his own spigot and shut off the water –– he was long since clean anyway –– when she spoke.

"You're a good person, Anakin."

Anakin wasn't quite sure how to take that, in light of the discussion they'd just been having. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat, and finally managed to say, "Thanks."

Ryn didn't look at him as she shut off the taps. "Does taking responsibility mean you have to get married?"

Anakin watched her move. "I'm not sure," he said cautiously. "Maybe not." That was one of the parts Shmi hadn't gotten around to explaining, but he figured Ryn could probably work that out for herself.

She finally did look at him, then. "Thanks," she said quietly. "You've given me a lot to think about."

Anakin wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, either. If Ryn was thinking about sex, the potential for even more awkward conversations in his very near future was ... significant. "What do you mean?" he asked warily, stepping backward to cut off his own shower.

Ryn hesitated, just for a second. "I frightened you, that morning in my bedroom."

Anakin felt a stab of guilt, mixed with a despairing sense of _here-we-go-again_. "I told you," he said. "I was only afraid of hurting you."

Ryn managed a small smile as she trekked over to the counter for her towel. "I know," she said, tossing him is. "But it's not an explanation I could have come up with on my own." She used the towel to squeeze some of the water out of her hair, not very effectively. "I was getting dressed to go and turn myself in when the attack came."

"_What?_" Anakin exclaimed, as shocked as if the water had suddenly run cold. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't turn myself in for committing a heinous crime?" Ryn asked. "Of course I would. Keeping it secret would not only have been unfair to you, but also might have jeopardized the peace process. I fully expected to be sent home and executed for my failure."

"Executed?" Anakin gasped. She might as well have punched him in the gut. "But, Ryn, that's ... _barbaric_."

Ryn gave him a wry little smile. "We're out in the Unknown Regions," she pointed out. "If we aren't barbarians, who is?"

Anakin decided this was beside the point. "But you can't really believe ..." he trailed off, unsure of how to finish his sentence.

"That's my point," Ryn said, giving up on her hair to tackle her sparkling-wet skin. Anakin tried not to watch all the places where the water trailed into rivulets and followed her curves. "I _did_ believe it. What else could I think? I didn't know any of this stuff about your mother, or love, or a sense of responsibility."

"Oh," said Anakin stupidly. He remembered her hunkering at the edge of the bed, clutching the covers and begging him to _please just wait_, hearing the tears in her voice as he tore for the the shower, the agony of rejection he'd left behind. "I'm ... really sorry. I mean, I was always sorry, but ... I didn't know you thought ... I ... it wasn't like that. I was never ... you didn't do anything wrong."

Ryn shook her head at him. "I don't need you to be sorry," she said. "I just need you to tell me what you're thinking. Especially when it's hard, like this." She wadded her towel and tossed it into a bin, then leaned one naked hip against the counter and met his eyes. Anakin tried not to think about the water collecting ... down there, and kept his eyes on her face. "I've heard some friends actually talk to each other," she pointed out. "In words, even."

Anakin frowned at her, which was hard because his eyes were so wide from trying to take her in. "Words aren't my thing." Obi-Wan's exasperated comments on his diplomatic skills were proof of that.

"Oh, please," Ryn said, unimpressed. "Basic isn't even my native language, but at least I'm trying."

Anakin tossed his own towel away and dragged on the robe she'd handed him in the hallway because he could still hear their clothes thumping around in the 'fresher. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Ryn was his safe place. She wasn't supposed to be frustrating and demanding and ...

Standing right there, patiently waiting for him.

_Oh._ Anakin swallowed. "You should put some clothes on," he said roughly. "It's cold in here."

Ryn picked up her robe, defeat writing itself into the lines of her body, and belted it on without looking at him.

Anakin tightened the belt on his own robe carefully and cleared his throat. "I didn't ... I didn't mean it like that," he tried. "I just ... you wanted to talk, and I ... _can't_, with you standing there naked."

"Why not?" Ryn demanded truculently.

"I forget how," Anakin blurted, and then cringed at how stupid that sounded.

But it turned out to be the right thing to say after all, maybe because Ryn could tell it was the truth. She shot him one guarded look from under her ridiculous lashes, bit her lip hard, and then said, "Okay."

Anakin wasn't sure what kind of answer he'd been expecting, but this one was pretty opaque. He sized her up carefully, resisted the urge to probe her with the Force, and repeated cautiously, "'Okay'?"

Ryn's shoulders hunched defensively. "What do you want me to say? I don't get it, but if this is what you need, then ... okay."

Anakin stifled a sigh. The new Ryn was a lot more difficult than the old one. But he thought she might be marginally happier and saner, and she was finally asking for something for herself, instead of giving ground before everyone's needs but her own, so ... those were good things. It was good that she was standing up for herself a little.

So Anakin hoisted himself up to sit cross-legged on the counter, folding his robe so his junk didn't flash everywhere. "Okay," he decided, consciously echoing her, and patted the spot next to him. "Thanks. Now what did you want to talk about?"

Ryn climbed gingerly onto the counter and tucked her feet beneath the hem of her robe. "Tell me about your mother."

Anakin shifted. "Mom? But why?"

Ryn traced a design on the countertop with one finger. "Because she taught you to love," she answered softly. "And because she must have loved you very much." Her voice broke on a sob at the end and she gasped, "I don't know what that's like."

"Ryn?" Anakin asked, alarmed.

His best friend shook her head and reached for his head. "It's okay," she said, a little shakily. "It's just ... my parents didn't want me, you know? The kids were like ... cadets ... to them. They tried to train us well, but they weren't ... affectionate. And I was the last, kind of an afterthought. In the way." She took a steadying breath, caught her lower lip between her teeth, and glanced furtively up at him. "Did you know you were the first person to ever say you loved me?"

"I –– what? No." But a lot of things made more sense now. He was grateful for Ryn's friendship, but he had never understood why she'd been so read to love him in the beginning, when he'd been hardly more than polite to her. He'd been taken aback by the sheer overwhelming force of her devotion, her almost fanatic fear of losing him, the hesitant way she responded to his friendly gestures of affection. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't know that." Ryn's words gave a whole new meaning to _first love_.

"It's okay," she said again. "I mean, I understand it better all the time. They weren't a love match, so it's no wonder they didn't particularly want to have kids together." She pushed damp hair back from her face. "By the time I was born, my father was spending most of his time here on Fjornel, with his mistress." She looked down at her hands. "I guess you think that's awful."

_Well, yeah. Pretty much._ "It's not my place to judge your family."

Ryn snorted. "Like that's ever stopped you before."

_Yeah, okay._ He obviously didn't have Obi-Wan's gift for projecting an aura of neutrality. "Hey, it's your family," he said, giving up on that tactic. "I just think there's something wrong with anyone who could not love you."

Ryn half-smiled. "Now you're just teasing me."

Because obviously he couldn't be serious about loving her. Anakin said, "Only a little. I mean ... parents should love their kids. And I doubt you were a really bad kid."

Ryn pulled at her robe. "I think I was too young when they died to be much of anything yet."

The aching loss behind her words made his chest hurt in sympathy. "And Kit never ...?"

Ryn winced, remembering. "When the aide brought me to Kit –– up here, actually, he was working on defenses for the Dome –– he took one look at me and said, "Oh, fuck." That's pretty much been the story of our relationship ever since."

_Oh, Ryn._ Anakin shifted closer and put his arm around her shoulders. "We'll find him."

Ryn settled into his embrace, the dampness from her hair soaking into his robe. "I hope so," she said. "But I think you were going to tell me about your mother."

Over the sound of the clothes 'fresher, Anakin began to talk.


	68. Chapter 68

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT**

They made their way back to the big house on weary feet, answering greetings with tired smiles and waves. Occasionally Ryn actually mustered up the energy to respond with words, in her native language. Some of the friendly wishes were for Anakin now, and he couldn't help but feel warmed that he'd somehow succeeded in winning the natives' taciturn approval.

Ryn had to translate some of the greetings, but they were all goodhearted. Several called him a hero, which seemed to make Ryn proud. She jogged his elbow as they settled onto the path that led up the slope to Sarta's residence.

"You hear that?" she asked him. "You're a hero now."

For a second, Anakin just grinned at her. It _did_ feel good. Then reality hit and he felt his smile falter. "That won't do anyone much good if I can't get the air filtration system working."

"Later," Ryn said firmly, steering him up a set of steps carved into the side of the hill. "Right now, you're going to go to bed and sleep until at least noon."

She waved her hand at the doorwards, who prevented her from pushing the heavy wooden doors open by doing it themselves, and tilted her head to look at him.

"In fact," she said speculatively, drawing the word out and sliding her hand into the crook of his arm with a little squeeze, "I believe _the night is cold_."

He didn't have to ask what she meant. "Ryn, we just talked about this. You know I don't feel right ––"

Ryn stopped him with one long finger against his lips. "Sh," she murmured. "Just to sleep." Seeing his hesitation, she added, "It beats the floor. Or ..." her face fell. "Did you have someone else in mind?" She swallowed audibly. "Because that would be, you know, fine ––"

He loved her more than he should. "Lead the way."

But now Ryn seemed uncertain. "Are you sure? Because if you don't want ––"

"Ryn."

"Yes?" she said, not quite squeaking.

"You worry too much."

Her reticent smile broke through like a sun moving out of eclipse.

Very deliberately, Anakin did not kiss the shy corner of her mouth. Instead, he steered her toward the stairs.

"_It is cold indeed,_" he intoned, remembering the appropriate response, and Ryn shot him a surprised but grateful look over her shoulder as she set her foot on the first step.

"My bed is warm," she assured him, teasing, and Anakin grinned and pushed her up the stairs.

* * *

In Ryn's bedroom, Anakin tugged off his boots and watched Ryn drag the blessed-by-heretics bedspread down into the floor. She shed her clothes before crawling under the remaining blankets; Anakin didn't, but Ryn kept whatever thought she had about the matter to herself and just snuggled close once he'd worked his way under the covers, and wrapped her lithe body around his fully-clothed frame.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered, and closed her eyes.

* * *

_The broken man in the corner barely twitches when the door opens. He's exhausted, and filthy, and long past any sense of hope. He gave up waiting to be rescued weeks ago. He can't even remember when he started waiting to die. _

_ But he doesn't know how. He's never learned how to give up; there is no surrender bred in his bones. He'd like to quiet, but he can't. So he just lies there, dully prepared to endure whatever torture is coming next. _

_ The boot connects with his jaw sharply, viciously, but the man hardly bothers to grunt. The universe is this: pain beyond fear, a slow grind toward death._

_ A voice beyond the wall suspends the torture, but the man on the floor isn't terribly interested. _

_ The world turns blue, and a bar of light –– blue, of course it is, it's the source of the light –– slices through the booted man's chest. _

_ A pleasantly sophisticated voice with a Coruscanti accent says, "Kitraal Orun, I presume?"_

* * *

Anakin jerked away and lay stiffly still, wide-eyed and panting, trying to get his bearings.

"Anakin?" That was Ryn's voice, rough from sleep and achingly familiar.

Anakin turned his head against the pillow to meet her eyes. "Oh."

Ryn propped herself up on one elbow and touched his shoulder in surprisingly gentle concern. "You okay?"

"I –– yeah." Anakin cleared his throat. "Bad dream."

"I could tell." Ryn shifted closer, offering the simple comfort of her physical presence. "What was it about?"

He didn't think he wanted to tell her. "Your brother. I think."

"Kit?" Ryn said, and the hope in her voice cut him to the bone. "Was it a Force-vision? Could you tell where he was? Was he okay?"

"I'm not sure," said Anakin, frowning as he tried to answer her questions in order. "No. Sort of."

Worry etched its way onto Ryn's face. "What do you mean?"

"It could have been just a dream," Anakin said. He didn't really think so, but the death of Yaddle had taught him to be careful of interpreting such things. "But if it _was_ a vision from the Force, then it must have been the future, because I saw Obi-Wan there."

"That's good, right?" Ryn asked. "It means we find him."

"I guess," Anakin said doubtfully. "Just ... I didn't see the rest of us. And ... Kit was in bad shape, Ryn."

Ryn shrank a little. "What do you mean?"

"It might not even be true ––"

"_Tell me_."

"He was being tortured," Anakin said, catching Ryn's hand for comfort. "And ... he'd given up, Ryn. He didn't care any more."

Ryn didn't cry or make a fuss. She nodded thoughtfully and sank back down beside him.

"I guess we always knew it would be something like that," she said slowly. "I mean, before ... before we severed our bond and my senses went all to hell, I could feel his pain, the echoes of it. He's been hurting for a long time." She sighed. "It seems like we've been searching forever, without any light."

"Without a light?" Anakin repeated, momentarily puzzled.

Ryn gave him a tolerant look. "You know, because ordinary beings use light to look for things, instead of the Force."

"Oh," said Anakin. "But I don't see how we could do any better. We need more information."

"I have an idea," Ryn said. "But probably no one's going to like it."


	69. Chapter 69

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE**

They woke again to the pounding of footsteps below. Ryn stirred groggily, disentangling herself from Anakin's embrace,and Anakin watched her go with a kind of weary resignation. Sometime around dawn they had shifted together in the middle of the bed, limbs twining, and Anakin had put an arm around Ryn's waist to hold her close, and nothing in his life had ever felt so good. He'd breathed in the scent of her hair and dreamed of home.

"Mmmmph," Ryn said now, turning her face out of his shoulder, and Anakin grinned to himself and spread his fingers in the small of her back.

Last night they'd been so tired that sex hadn't even been a temptation, especially –– odd as it might sound –– after the conversation they'd had in the showers. They'd hauled their clean clothes out of the 'fresh at the public baths as soon as they were done and dragged themselves home to bed. And even when they'd woken during the night, they'd had other things on their minds. Now, however ...

Now their eyes met with a _rightness_ that took Anakin's breath away.

"Hey," Ryn breathed, and reached out to trace the lines of his face with her cool fingertips.

"Hey," he answered. He couldn't manage any better at the moment, but surely Ryn knew it was because she'd left him speechless.

He pushed back the silky waves of dark hair, glistening blue-black in the light from the window –– still slanting, so they hadn't quite slept to noon as promised –– and sighed his contentment.

Ryn smiled in invitation and Anakin shifted to bring her closer, too overwhelmed to think about what he was doing, still groggy with sleep and the last threads of his dreaming. Warmth and safety beckoned, just within reach, and when he leaned over Ryn, her lips parted for his, and she was _so close_ ...

The room chilled in a draft as the curtain was yanked open.

"Get yourselves together and get downstairs," snapped a voice, and Anakin and Ryn jerked out of their reverie and turned to the curtained doorway.

Sarta loomed there, his presence roiling with anger and anxiety and the first tightly controlled stirrings of panic.

Ryn hauled the blanket up to cover her naked breasts. "What is it?" she asked, and Anakin could feel her initial outrage fading in the light of Sarta's clear distress.

"Evinne's back," the prince said tersely. "I'll let her tell you the news herself.

Ryn exchanged looks with Anakin. "I've got a bad feeling about this," she murmured, and Anakin nodded wordlessly. Turning back to Sarta, she added, "We'll be right there." When Sarta didn't move, she hardened her voice and drawled, "That means you leave now."

"Oh!" Sarta stepped back, startled, as though he'd forgotten that she wasn't going to get dressed while he was standing in the doorway. "Right." He released the curtain and let it fall into place with a swish of sliding silk.

Ryn shook her head at the trembling embroidery and groaned as she pushed herself up in the bed. "Ugh. Did you get any rest between the nightmares?"

_They weren't all nightmares,_ Anakin thought, but that conversation was sure to lead places he didn't want to go. He said, "Yeah, a little."

"Good." Ryn crawled out from under the covers and began pulling on last night's clothes. Over her shoulder, she added, "I'm sorry it couldn't have been more."

Anakin, busy watching the curve of her back as she bent and twisted, found that he had no idea what she was saying. "Huh?"

"I wish you could have gotten more rest."

"Oh. Yes." Anakin slid out of bed, fully clothed, to find her looking at him strangely. "You, too."

Ryn shrugged that off, along with his weirdness. "I'm fine." She offered up a cheeky grin as she tugged her shirt into place. "You were very warm last night. It was relaxing."

Anakin felt his face heat. "Uh ..."

Ryn laughed at his expression. "Anakin, it was fine. I slept okay. And it was ... nice." She cleared her throat, dragged on her boots, and said quietly, "I miss sleeping with you sometimes."

Memory reached up and threatened to drag him under: the cold floor in the basement of Ziro's brothel, Ryn snuggled close for warmth, the easy camaraderie they had shared. It felt so long ago now, another life. The ragged edges of their broken bond bled a little in commiseration and they looked away from each other. It was just ... too much. Too hard, too painful.

"Sorry," Ryn whispered into the silence. "I didn't mean to ––"

"Was it so awful?" Anakin asked her, his voice harsh in his own ears. "Was it so awful, being bonded to me?"

Ryn jerked her eyes to his face. "No!" she protested. "I –– if anything, I liked it too much."

"_Why?_" Anakin demanded. "Why couldn't we just –– why couldn't we just stay like we were? It felt so good, Ryn. It felt _good_ to be with you." _There. I said it. Take it any way you want._

Ryn's face twisted in misery; he could _feel_ her pain in the Force, a sharp, biting anguish. "But we were doing it wrong," she said, miserably determined. "Couldn't you feel it? We were dragging at each other, all the time. Friends should make each other stronger!"

"We did," Anakin insisted. "I _know_ we were stronger together than we've ever been apart."

"No, I mean ..." Ryn shook her head, frustrated. "We made a strong team. But we should make each other stronger as individuals, too. We should be better people because we knew each other." She shoved the hair back from her face and swallowed her tears, fierce in her resolve. "I can't go back," she told him. "I can't forget what it meant to be _myself_. I can't be for you what I was for Kit." She met his eyes. "That wasn't love, you know. It was devotion, it was subservience, it was the best I could do ... but it wasn't love. And I can't blame Kit, because he was just as much a victim as I was. But I know better now. And ... you deserve better. You deserve a friend who isn't just sleepwalking through her life." She dropped her eyes, staring down at the utility belt in her hands as though it might hold the answers they were all desperately seeking. "This is harder, but I know it's right."

"I don't understand you," Anakin told her, trying to keep his voice tight so it wouldn't shake. "I don't even understand what you just said. What was wrong with being a team? We were _good_ at it. I don't ––"

"There'd have been nothing left of me." Ryn hooked the utility belt over her hips and came around the end of the bed to stand just in front of him, close enough she had to raise her chin to meet his eyes. "Is that what you wanted?"

"No, of course not. But I don't see what that ––"

"I know you don't understand." Ryn bit her lip, glancing down. "I don't quite get it all myself. But I can feel it. It was there, in the way I couldn't make myself say no to you, the way I'd have done anything to get you back when you were angry with me. Maybe it's the way I was raised, or maybe there was something wrong with the bond." She grimaced. "It's not like either of us knew what we were doing. But as long as we're in this thing together, I know we can make it right." She looked up again, straight into his eyes. "So. Can you trust me?"

"I ––" She didn't know what she was asking. She couldn't. But she was standing there, asking him anyway. "Yes. I can. I do. I trust you."

Ryn grinned at him, just a little, and Anakin wondered if maybe she did know how much she was asking, after all. She flattened one hand over his heart and said, "Then my _sykhe_ is in your keeping. Take care of it."

Anakin took a deep breath and tried to let go his fears. "Okay," he managed at last.

Ryn stretched onto her toes and pressed on tender, mostly-chaste kiss to his mouth in acknowledgement. "I know it isn't easy for you," she murmured, settling back on her heels. "But it means the galaxy to me. Thank you."

The fact that he could _feel_ how much she meant it almost made up for everything.

Still a little stunned from the kiss, Anakin followed her downstairs.


	70. Chapter 70

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SEVENTY**

If things had been angsty and uncertain in Ryn's bedroom, things downstairs presented another set of problems. They found Evinne sitting at one of the hearths, a cup of the local brew forgotten in her hand while Gunryth cleaned a jagged cut down one arm, Engine hovering behind her and radiating adoration. Apparently they'd become a lot closer during the course of the night.

"Evinne," said Ryn, and the older girl raised her head to look at them with the kind of deliberation that comes from either intense inebriation or bone-deep exhaustion.

The deep shadows beneath her eyes bespoke the latter. "Areth'ryn," Evinne acknowledged hoarsely. Her eyes flicked past Ryn to Anakin. "Skywalker. _Anakin._ I'm so sorry." A tear escaped her control and tracked down a white face marked with soot. "If there's anything I can do ..."

Dully, Anakin realized that it must be worse than they'd guessed, if Evinne was calling him by his given name. _And Obi-Wan's not here._ A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want to know. He was sure he didn't want to know. He felt Ryn touch his shoulder. Heard himself ask, stupidly, "Where's Obi-Wan?"

Evinne's facade cracked. He could see the fault lines beneath her smooth white skin, the guilt and pain and rank fear. "_Skywalker_. Oh, honey. He's –– he's gone."

Anakin froze. The room spun, a slow sickening whirl. Evinne's words hung suspended by the centrifugal force, refusing to resolve into meaning. Ryn took a step backward; Anakin was dimly aware of her setting her hand on his back in comfort.

"What do you mean, _gone_?" That couldn't be his voice. It didn't sound like his voice; high and strange and brittle. But there wasn't anyone who could have spoken those words, either. It was his question, after all.

"His starfighter was caught in the tractor beam," Evinne said. "We caught up with Omega halfway back to Wild Space and moved in on him. We were going to try and take him out if we couldn't capture him –– Kenobi said the Jedi wanted him, dead or alive. So ... yeah. Anyway. It was a brutal firefight. I've never seen a personal transport move like that. And the weapons ... he had us outgunned so many times over, it wasn't even funny. He must have had an automated firing system or something. We couldn't pierce his shields to strike back, no matter how we tried. But we might have taken him anyway, except ... he had help."

"Help?" Ryn repeated, sharply.

"Yeah." Evinne coughed, trying to clear some of the rasp from her throat, and went on. "That's why I broke and ran. I _left him there_, because you had to know." She closed her eyes briefly against some hidden pain, but when she opened them again, they were clear, if tired. "They had a big ship, one I didn't recognize, that powered the tractor beam, but the fighters ... the fighters were Clan Ardel. Stevan's own guard."

"Are you sure?" Ryn asked, her voice tight.

Evinne nodded slowly; she still looked a little dazed, a little disbelieving. Anakin would have felt sorry for her if he hadn't been so furious that she had left Obi-Wan behind, in danger. "I'm sure," she said hollowly. "I'd know Emory's starfighter anywhere. I helped design the damned thing. And Carnevra –– we used to do our hair together. It's ––" She broke off and looked down at her torn and filthy dawora. "They fired on me," she whispered. "I opened the comm and told them to stand down, and they fired on me anyway. And Obi-Wan, although I guess he's safe aboard Omega's ship by now." She slumped forward and buried her face in her hands, pulling away from Gunryth, who frowned but let her go.

Ryn rubbed small circles on Anakin's shoulder blade with the flat of her hand. "We'll get Obi-Wan back," she promised him. "It may take us a while, but we _will_ get him."

Anakin opened his mouth to say that Obi-Wan might not _have_ a while, but Ryn spoke over him, her eyes sharp on Evinne.

"Could you plot a trajectory for Omega's ship, based on the last tracking data you recorded?"

Evinne shrugged, listless. "_I_ couldn't. A good astromech droid might. But I jumped to hyperspace ahead of Omega's group. He could have picked any direction after that."

"Maybe not," Ryn said. "There aren't that many places out here he could have run. Even if he was fully fueled, he'd need to stop before he could reach Republic space. Or he might head for the Chiss border, if he was feeling really rash, but they only have one outpost in flight range. Void or not, unless he's transcended to another dimension and taken his ship with him, he's going to have to land somewhere. Which is how we'll find him. In the meantime ..." She shifted her gaze to Sarta. "Attacking a Jedi on a sanctioned quest is an act of aggression that could bring the Republic plunging down all our throats. We cannot afford to fight a war on two fronts, and we shouldn't have to try. Stevan Ardel is out of control. He endangers all of Loreth now. We have to stop him."

Sarta scowled. "We don't have any proof."

"We have testimony from his own sister!"

Sarta sighed, conceding the point without a fight. "What do you want, Ryn?"

Ryn drew herself up straighter. "A weapontake," she said succinctly. "I want every Ranger available to search the nearby systems. And I want Stevan's resignation and his father's. They have proven themselves unfit to lead a herd of nerfs on a picnic, much less a Clan of Loreth in time of war."

Sarta stared. "You cannot seriously be proposing the removal of _another_ Ardel? Gods and Saints, Ryn, we've never recovered from your grandfather's ––"

"_Clan Ardel_ has never recovered," Ryn corrected him ruthlessly. "Small wonder. It has been led by the resentful and the profligate for three generations. The time for change has come. We need a hero."

"Easy for _you_ to say," Evinne mumbled.

"Hardly," Ryn answered. Her tone was sharper, harder than Anakin was used to: a knife-blade of a voice that cut through resistance. "But for the first time in all these years, Ardel's royal line has finally produced an _athelan_ worthy of the name." She folded her arms across her chest, staring Sarta down. "If ri'domna Aesin'Evinne will take the torc, Clan Orun will see her wear it."

Evinne raised her head and stared at the younger girl in disbelief. Gunryth gave up looking wise and just looked stunned. Sarta said, slowly, "You want to put _Evinne_ in power? But I thought you hated each other!"

"We're not electing her Spring Queen," Ryn retorted. "Evinne's personality is regrettable, but it is also irrelevant. Loreth needs leaders, not politicians. I have fought with Evinne for more than half a decade, and I tell you now that Loreth has no stronger leader. No braver warrior. No sharper commander in the field. If she cannot rescue Clan Ardel from the wreck her grandsire made of it, no one can."

Evinne's mouth actually dropped open.

"Yeah," Ryn said, noticing. "Surprised the hell out of me, too."


	71. Chapter 71

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE**

Sarta cleared his throat. "Ryn, with Kit gone, Clan Orun's leadership is in question. You can't just –"

Ryn speared him with a glare. "Spare me," she said. "With Kit gone, there is no question at all. I speak for Clan Orun."

"But you're a hostage –"

"If the _athelani_ want to choose someone else later, they may do so," Ryn said. Her voice cut across his words like a knife. "I won't stand against them. But right here, right now, I am my brother's heir."

Sarta grimaced. "I know," he admitted. "But ... Areth'ryn, I am your foster-brother. How can I not try to protect you?"

"I'll be all right," Ryn said. "I know you mean well, but you can't protect me, Sarta. Not this time."

Sarta stepped closer and took Ryn's hands, pulling her away from Anakin. "I promised your brother I would take care of you," he said, lowering his voice. "I haven't kept that promise very well. But my offer of marriage is still open, Ryn. Come home. Marry me. Let me lead the army." He brushed a strand of black hair away from Ryn's pale cheek. "I know it's not a love match, but we have a common goal. That has to count for something."

"It does," Ryn said, tugging her hands free. "But it's not enough. And anyway, I have an obligation to the Jedi now."

Sarta glanced past her to Anakin. "Do you refuse me for yonder fair Padawan?" he asked her, frowning. "Do not be hasty, Ryn. The devotion of a true heart is worth more than a lovely face."

"Did you just call Anakin pretty?" Ryn demanded, aghast. "_No._ I am refusing you on my own account, for all the reasons I told you last year. They have not changed. I would say I'm sorry, but I don't think you really care."

Sarta frowned. "Of course I care," he said, his diction slipping a little. "I gave your brother my word –"

"Another good reason for me not to marry you," Ryn said.

Sarta cast another unhappy glance at Anakin. "I cannot help but feel that your lust for this young –"

"Finish that sentence at your own peril," Ryn said. "Although, since you ask, he is a better kisser than you."

"Though his lips be full and sweet –"

"If you don't marry me, are you going to make out with Anakin?" Ryn asked. "Because I might like to watch."

Sarta opened his mouth to speak again, but Gunryth intervened, stepping forward to lay her hand on her brother's arm. "Sarta," she remonstrated gently, "let it go. You have done your duty here. Areth'ryn has the right to refuse your offer." A small frown dented her perfect forehead. "Particularly after you proposed by speaking of your deep love for her brother, and the sweetness of another man's mouth. That was ... ill-advised."

Anakin let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Ryn sighed in relief and turned to her foster-sister. "Gunryth, my sword-brother and I need healing. Will you help us?"

Gunryth's smile could have lit an entire space station. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Obi-Wan woke slowly and pushed himself to a sitting position. His left arm still throbbed from the dart he'd been hit with earlier; it must have been drugged, too, because he couldn't begin to account for his soreness and grogginess any other way. The room in which he was trapped was more like a large metal box: plain and bare; a taller man wouldn't have been able to stand up in it.

Obi-Wan frowned. He didn't actually _know_ that he was trapped. There could be a way out. Grimacing at himself for making assumptions, he got gingerly to his feet and began to search the smooth, bare walls, gleaming dully in the dim recessed lighting from a strip embedded in the upper walls, running a circuit of the room. In light that came from all sides at once, shadows were blurry and indistinct, shifting with his perspective as he moved. The effect was disconcerting.

He was searching the walls with his fingers, trying to find the joint that might suggest a door – they'd got him in here somehow, after all – when one of the four walls slide back to reveal a protocol droid not unlike the one that had met him and Qui-Gon on the Trade Federation ship standing off Naboo, and likewise bearing a tray.

Obi-Wan shoved away the memories and tried to pay attention through the pounding in his head.

"Master Kenobi," the droid intoned, stepping inside so that the door slid shut behind him with a hiss. _Recessed joins,_ Obi-Wan noted. _That's not good._ "I hope you are enjoying your stay. I have been instructed to offer you some refreshments." He – _It,_ Obi-Wan reminded himself – lifted the tray as evidence. "We have hot hoi-broth, or –"

Obi-Wan's stomach churned at the thought. He wondered whether Omega knew of his allergy. It was difficult to imagine how, and yet the coincidence seemed just a little too striking to ignore. "Tea would be fine, thank you," he said composedly.

He took the tray the droid offered and tried out a smile. "May I ask where we are headed?" he inquired, as casually as he could manage.

"That information is outside my programming parameters," the droid informed him. "I can relay your request, if you like."

"Please do," Obi-Wan murmured, but he doubted that it would accomplish anything. If Omega had wanted him to know where they were going, he would have made the information available already. And if he didn't want Obi-Wan to know, he was unlikely to be persuaded by a mere request for information.

"Very well." The droid held out the tray for him to replace the drink, even though Obi-Wan had taken hardly two sips from it. "Is there anything else you require for your comfort? A bed, perhaps?"

"A bed is unnecessary," Obi-Wan replied. "What I would like is to speak with your master."

"I will relay your request," the droid intoned gravely. "Good day."


	72. Chapter 72

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note: Special thanks to LiveJournal user **attanagra**, who beta'ed this mess more than once, without complaining. It's a better chapter for her intervention. Any mistakes, plot holes, and general fail remaining are all my own. :)

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO**

They followed Gunryth up the stairs and into her private chambers in a silence that tensed Anakin's nerves until he felt ready to snap like an overstretched cord. Ryn was no help: she stood beside him in stillness so profound it seemed she had suspended her very being to wait for Gunryth's verdict. Even her Force signature felt withdrawn, waiting.

Gunryth moved slowly about the room, falling into a rhythm as she lit candles and incense burners, weaving her steps about their standing forms in some sort of esoteric dance. Anakin kept one eye on Ryn and waited.

When Gunryth had finished whatever preparations she was making, she came to a stop in front of them and waved them to seats on embroidered floor cushions and sank to one of her own.

"Open your senses," she instructed them. "It may be ... painful ... at first, but I need to search your wounds. I will be as gentle as I can."

Ryn relaxed, cross-legged, into a meditation pose, and Anakin closed his eyes and tried to follow suit.

"That's it," Gunryth murmured. "Ease your shields, if you can. Relax, like a virgin on her wedding night ––" Ryn cleared her throat sharply, and Gunryth amended "––well, relax, however you can."

_I'm trying,_ Anakin thought, but years of _there is no try_ tightened his jaw and enforced his silence. Beside him, he felt Ryn's sharp clarity of focus, the distilled quality he associated with her battle-mind.

The similarity was not comforting.

Gunryth probed Ryn first; Anakin could hear his friend's sharp intake of breath at the intrusion, but also he could feel a shift in the Force, a shudder in her presence and a wash of pain, not entirely controlled. It seemed to take a long time before Gunryth had finished her examination and Ryn collapsed, panting.

"'S okay," he heard her gasp. "It's ... not too bad, really."

If she was trying to be reassuring, it wasn't working.

Gunryth touched his shields lightly at first, nudging gently. Anakin took a deep breath and tried to force himself to relax and let her in, which of course was counterproductive.

"Easy, young Jedi. The unfamiliar is always hard. Give yourself time." She teased his walls gently, a sensation almost like a tickle. Ryn had done this before, but her touch had felt different, better, because he wanted it. Anakin could remember opening his mind to her, both of them dropping their shields, the sheer _rightness_ of that kind of intimacy, beyond words ...

"There," Gunryth murmured, slipping inside.

She didn't feel like Ryn. Ryn had always been bright and present and clear: even when her emotions were running dark, there was a sharpness about her that would not be hidden. Gunryth felt ... shadowy. Shrouded, indistinct, somehow inaccessible even though she was as close to him as a being could possibly be. Every attempt to read her was like trying to lay hold of a mist.

Her sojourn into his mind hurt, hurt again when she probed his connection to the Force, and finally _hurt like hell_ when she searched his torn connection to Ryn. Anakin heard himself cry out in pain, a little surprised by the intensity when he'd thought he'd been healing, and then subside into a whimper and unsteady breathing.

The probe hurt in all the places where his soul remembered Ryn. She'd been there for him, always, and somehow he'd failed her. Their closeness hadn't been what she needed it to be.

"Peace, Anakin Skywalker," murmured Gunryth's clear, resonant voice. "You have not failed your friend. Peace."

Memory rushed past, rising to overwhelm him. Gunryth dug deeper, and Anakin clenched his teeth against a howl of sheer bloody agony.

The universe went dark.

* * *

"Anakin!" Ryn lurched forward to kneel at his side. "Gunryth, what's wrong?"

Gunryth came out of the trance only slowly; a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that the older woman still looked dazed, her pupils dilated and unfocused. "I ... don't know," she admitted. She sounded distant, but Ryn had seen Gunryth break free of trances often enough to know that was normal. "The search caused him more pain than it should have done. There is something ... very strange ... going on here. His _annam_ is ... diffuse."

Ryn sat back on her heels, one hand resting on Anakin's shoulder. "_Diffuse?_ How can it be diffuse?"

"I don't know!" Gunryth exclaimed, frustrated. That's what I'm saying. It doesn't make any sense. It shouldn't be possible, and yet ..."

"_What?_" Ryn demanded, fear making her voice sharp. "_What_ shouldn't be possible?"

"I ..." Gunryth shook her head. "It almost feels as though his _annam_ is ... played out, to cover both of you. But that cannot be."

Ryn turned back to touch Anakin's face. He felt ... distant, as though he weren't really here, in this room - in his _body_ - at all. "Are you sure?" she asked. Her throat felt too tight, choking her words. "Because _something_ is wrong."

Gunryth hesitated. "I've heard of something like that before, with twins ... but you and Anakin are no kin to each other."

"No, but we are _close_," Ryn said, frowning. "We were bonded, remember? That's why we asked you for healing?"

"Because ... _you weren't healing_," Gunryth finished. Her face had gone white. "No wonder you couldn't heal, either of you. You are incomplete."

_I knew it. I knew there was something wrong with me. It's all my fault._

But while she could grasp, intuitively, the weight of what Gunryth was saying, her words refused to resolve into logical sense. Ryn swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on getting answers. "I don't understand."

"Your _annam_," Gunryth said. "Anakin's, too. It's like ... I sense you in him, I sense him in you. This isn't so much a bond as an interweaving. And what Evinne did ... at least, what I _think_ Evinne did ... is like cutting through a knot with scissors instead of untangling it. You are left with a lot of fragmented pieces, still tangled together but coming apart, and that is not ... healthy, for a living being." She paused reflectively. "It doesn't do a piece of string much good, either."

Ryn gritted her teeth and carefully did _not_ choke her foster sister. "Thank you. But why is he unconscious? Why does he feel so ... far away?"

"I don't know," Gunryth admitted. She reached forward to touch Anakin's lifeless hand. "I told you, I have never seen this before. I didn't even know it was possible." She raised troubled eyes to Ryn's face. "You need a dedicated Healer from the Temple of the Living Force. I fear this tangle is beyond my skill to unravel."

Ryn unclenched her jaw with an effort. "Anakin is unconscious. We can't go anywhere until he is on his feet. _How do we wake him?_"

Gunryth tilted her head to one side, thinking. Ryn could feel her probing Anakin's hidden mind, groping after him for a sense of his being. "I believe you have a better chance of waking him than I," she said finally. "You are, as you say, close. He does not answer to me."

Ryn cast her a sidelong look. "He doesn't answer to me, either."

"He cares for you. It may be enough." Gunryth shrugged, a gesture of resignation. "You can try."

_There is no try,_ Ryn thought, and then remembered that she didn't believe that. _Yoda, what have you done to me?_

Anakin was waiting.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and plunged.


	73. Chapter 73

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE**

In the dark, with no way to orient herself, Ryn fell toward Anakin as naturally as breathing. She let go of everything and let her inner gravity take over.

It felt like relief, like dying, like finally surrendering to the inevitable she'd been fighting since before she could remember.

She closed her eyes and fell.

* * *

Slowly Anakin realized that he was not alone. Someone was in the dark with him, searching for him.

He flinched and tried to push It away, feeling the jibber of fear deep inside –– wasn't that how he had gotten here in the first place? –– but then he recognized ... something.

_Anakin?_

Warmth, and comfort: a _steady_ Presence, whose familiarity beckoned.

_Mom?_

The Presence did not answer. Instead, it quested toward him again: _Anakin?_

That didn't make any sense. _Mom, is that you?_

The Presence ghosted over his awareness, leaving an impression like the lingering scent of flowers long gone: there-but-not-there. It felt ...

_strongdeterminedsad_

And ... worried?

He stretched out instinctively to offer reassurance.

_Anakin?_

Thought suspended. Then, hesitantly: _Ryn?_

He felt her rush of relief, so powerful it almost made him giddy just by contact. _I'm here, Anakin. I love you. Please don't go away._

Comprehension came hard because there were no words here, only feelings. Everything was at once more meaningful and less precise.

The sharpness of her fear made him try. _Away?_

_We're losing you._ She felt ... desperate, distracted by some harrowing fear. _Anakin, please wake up._

* * *

Ryn came to with a start and jerked upright. Somehow she'd ended up slumped over, half-sprawled across Anakin's chest. It wasn't until she refocused her troubled gaze on his face, frantic –– why had she thrown her out, what was wrong now? –– that his signature finally registered: thrumming with muted anxiety, but bright and present and real again.

"Hey," he said softly, lashes fluttering open as their eyes locked, and Ryn bent over and touched her forehead lightly to his.

"Hey," she breathed in answer, her voice rough from worry. "It's good to have you back."

"I know," Anakin said, pushing her hair back with unsteady fingers. "I came for you."

Ryn nodded, acknowledging the truth of this, and eased back to give him her best _thank you_ smile. The sudden answering warmth in Anakin's eyes said it worked pretty well.

She helped him to a sitting position, because they didn't have all day to just sit there and feel grateful. "What do you remember?"

Anakin blinked a couple of times. "Gunryth was probing me," he said slowly. "It hurt." There was a brief pause while they all tried to deal with the understatement there. "Then everything went dark. I don't remember anything else until I felt you ... doing whatever that was."

Ryn shifted, resting one knee on the floor to steady herself, and twisted to cast a glance over her shoulder at Gunryth. "What does that mean?"

Gunryth frowned. "I am ... not sure."

Ryn scowled, trying to ignore the blinding headache forming behind her eyes. "What can we do?"

"You can journey to the Temple of the Living Force and seek help from the dedicated healers there."

"No," Ryn countered, "we can't. We have to muster our weapons and ride on Stevan's stronghold. Once we have him in custody, we can take up the hunt for Omega."

"We should go after Obi-Wan first," Anakin said.

"We'll have an easier time of it if we don't have to fight an enemy behind as well as in front," Ryn said. "Take out Stevan and we remove Omega's base in the system. And gain the support of Ardel's warriors. It's worth the delay." Anakin's jaw tightened, but Ryn forestalled him with a raised hand. "We can argue about this later. The point is: we don't have time to go on pilgrimage." She shot Gunryth a look. "Try again."

Gunryth shrugged her shapely shoulders. "I cannot invent solutions out of thin air," she reminded them. "I have not the skill to heal you myself. I have told you where you must go to seek better healing, but you were not ready to listen. What more can I do? The facts will not change themselves to fit your whim."

"It is _not a whim_," Anakin said, anger darkening his voice. "Obi-Wan could die!"

Gunryth faced him unperturbed, implacably serene. "Yes, he could. But so could you and Ryn. So could many other beings, whose lives depend on you. It is not my duty to help you defy the laws of nature merely because you do not like them. I will not help you to squander lives. If you are willing to seek healing, I will do all I can for you. But if you insist on taking the quick and easy path, when so many lives are at stake ... I fear more beings will die. I cannot be a part of that."

Anakin surged to his feet, ready to take Gunryth head-to-head. Sensing disaster, Ryn scrambled after him. "Anakin, wait." The room made a slow, nauseating turn as the pain in her head worsened. "Ow." She pressed one hand to her temple and waved the other ineffectually at Anakin. "Just ... wait." She swayed drunkenly, righted herself, and opened her mouth.

Instead of words, she gushed a toxic-smelling spew of bile as her empty stomach tried to turn itself inside out.

She reeled, but Anakin caught her before she could hit the floor. Ryn fought off the sense of deja vu –– that time in the infirmary had been different, she'd been poisoned then –– and struggled to stand, still retching.

"Ryn?" Anakin said, panic rising in his voice. But since this was Anakin, the fear was quickly submersed in belligerence: "What did you do to her?"

"It is as I feared," Gunryth proclaimed weakly. "The forced activity is causing you to unravel. Instead of separating from each other, the unity of your very beings is disrupted. Quite simply, you are both coming undone."

Anakin shook his head, bewildered, and clutched Ryn's arm tighter while she leaned to the side and retched up more vile-smelling acid. "What does that mean?" he demanded, paying her heaves no attention.

Ryn got her retching under control in time to lift her head and see Gunryth's shocked white face hang still while the rest of the room spun sickeningly around it. "You are both going to die."

Ryn breathed in hard and thought, _Of course we are._


	74. Chapter 74

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR**

Anakin hauled Ryn to her feet, cradling her against his chest. For the life of him, he couldn't have said whether he was holding her so tightly for her benefit or his. "What do you mean, _we're going to die_?"

Gunryth sighed. "Sentient beings are comprised of three things: _sykhe_, the essence of your Being, the thing that is Anakin, or Ryn, or Gunryth; flesh, the form that enables us to interact with the physical world; and _annam_, the energy that knits _sykhe_ and flesh together and connects each Unity of Being to the Force." She registered Anakin's confused expression and added, "You can think of them as spirit, matter, and energy if you like."

"'S a heresy," Ryn slurred weakly. "Don't tell Yoda."

_Luminous beings are we ..._ Anakin patted her shuddering back and met Gunryth's eyes. "Say I believe you. What's wrong with Ryn?"

"Nothing that is not also wrong with you," Gunryth answered grimly. When Anakin just stared at her, waiting, she shook her head. "The aspects that comprise a living being in this dimension of existence generally come apart only in death," she tried to explain. "In fact, you can think of death as the moment in which they cease to function as a Unity. Life is the state in which they are all working together, seamlessly. But only the _sykhe_ is truly immortal. The _annam_ will someday join the Force. The body will decay and give itself to create new life. What we call Death usually begins with the failure of the body; it can no longer pull its weight, so to speak, and the Unity is broken. When most beings say Death, they mean the end of physical functions; but really that is only one part - the first part - of the separation. You and Ryn are coming undone from the inside out; your bodies are fine, but you are separating nonetheless. Thus: you are dying."

Ryn dragged herself upright, panting, and tried to explain. "It's like speaking of the Force as though it were a river, or a light, or whatever else you Jedi call it. We speak of _sykhe_, flesh, and _annam_ as though they were distinct, but if they were ... truly separate ... life as we know it could not exist. What we ... experience as Life ... is the Unity of these elements." She gasped in another breath and added, "As with the Force, no metaphor is truly adequate. The nature of Being is not _like_ anything else. It's just ... a way of thinking ..." She trailed away into more retching.

"You can think of it any way you want," Gunryth said tartly. Something in her tone suggested that she and Ryn had covered this ground before; Anakin remembered vaguely that Ryn had never been able to give him a straight answer on Lorethan orthodoxy. Maybe this was why: Ryn was a dissident everywhere. "If your Unity disintegrates, it's still dying."

Anakin held Ryn a little tighter, as though he could prevent her death just by hanging on for dear life. "You said _both_ of us," he reminded Gunryth. "Why don't I feel any different?"

Gunryth lifted her hands helplessly. "I cannot say. Perhaps your _annam_ was stronger to begin with. Ryn's was always weak, when I knew her before ... oh, Goddess. I should have known, when she came back ... changed." Even in the candlelight, Anakin could see her grow pale. "You changed her."

Ryn let her head drop to Anakin's shoulder. "I'm not sure I believe all this," she said wearily. "You're dealing with some very theoretical stuff."

"Believe whatever you like," Gunryth responded tightly. "It is the best explanation I have at the moment. Thinking of light as waves when sometimes it acts like particles and really it can't be either has never done any harm, as far as I can tell. Call it a serious fiction."

Anakin had heard Ryn try to explain the idea of serious fictions once before. Obi-Wan had been fascinated, but as far as Anakin could see, there was no end to it. "I don't care what you call it," he said now, to forestall another series of philosophical acrobatics. "How do we fix it?"

Gunryth shot him an exasperated look. "I already told you," she said repressively. "You need healing from the dedicated ––"

"How long will it take?"

"Once you reach the capital, it is a journey of some days ––"

_Days?_ Anakin fisted one hand in the back of Ryn's shirt and thrust her forward, into Gunryth's personal space. "We don't have days," he gritted. _There is no emotion, there is ... _"_Look at her,_ Gunryth. Ryn is in trouble _now_. She was your foster-sister, you can't just ––"

"It is against our law to land a mechanical transport outside the designated areas," Gunryth said, unbearably calm. "Punishable by banishment or death. Ryn chose her own path. I cannot ––"

Anakin had one card left. He played it, even knowing what his friend's reaction would be. _I'm sorry, Ryn. I can't watch you die._ "Are you willing to risk a war over this?" he demanded. "Can you risk letting a Jedi –– possibly _two_ Jedi –– die on your watch? Will your pointless rules save you if the Republic decides ––" He broke off, because he couldn't talk through the sudden pain burning its way through his bones.

"I take your point," Gunryth said. Her face had gone paler still. "And you are worsening quickly. I ... must speak with my brother. Wait here."

She departed in a churning sea of vibrant silks.


	75. Chapter 75

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE**

They waited in silence for Gunryth's return, kneeling in the floor without looking at each other.

Finally Ryn scraped up her courage and choked out, "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

Anakin shot her a look of contempt. "You think?"

Ryn swallowed bile again and raised her chin to look him in the eye. "Not for severing our bond," she explained distinctly. "I know in my hear that it would have destroyed us in the end. But I should have known sooner that something was wrong. I _did_ know, I just didn't want to face it. I let this happen. I'm sorry." Exhausted, she slumped forward, wrists draping limply over her updrawn knees. "I know it doesn't help, but I had to say it."

"It seems like there's a lot you 'have' to do," Anakin retorted. "Just like you 'had' to sever the bond in the first place. That's your excuse for everything."

Ryn jerked upright, eyes wide. "I'm not trying to make excuses!" she exclaimed. "I _know_ what I did was wrong. But how can I _not_ tell you I'm sorry? We could die!"

Anakin opened his mouth, shut it, and gave her a close look. Ryn tried not to squirm. "So you wouldn't be sorry unless our lives were in danger?"

"That's not what I -"

The curtain swished aside and Gunryth flowed in, surrounded as usual by an aura of power and mystery. Sarta followed her, grim-faced.

"So," he said, focusing his gaze on Anakin. "I hear you intend to create a diplomatic incident out of your personal problems."

"Not me," Anakin answered. "If your sister is right, I'll be much too dead to worry about diplomatic incidents."

Sarta growled, dissatisfied but stymied, and shifted to include Ryn in his scrutiny. "Will the Council wage war over this?"

Ryn hesitated, truth warring with fear. In the end, she said, "I doubt it. I don't think they care that much."

She could feel Anakin's outraged betrayal at her defection, but she wasn't going to lie for him, not with the sovereignty of the Loreth on the line.

_I'm sorry, Anakin. I was _athelan_ first._

She watched Sarta's restless prowl for a long beat before interjecting: "I don't think the Jedi are that invested in the lives of individuals." She got to her feet, grunting with the effort. "But they are unlikely to be pleased about the death of their Chosen One."

She could practically see Gunryth's ears perking. "Chosen One?"

"I'll explain later," Ryn said, watching out of the corner of her eye as Anakin got to his feet, too. "Transport now." She locked gazes with Sarta. "You won't regret it."

* * *

Anakin hated the delay. Obi-Wan was out there somewhere, waiting, depending on Anakin to rescue him, and so far Anakin was doing nothing. Except heading in exactly the wrong direction: down onto Loreth instead of out into the search of surrounding systems. Even with the pain burning behind his eyes, he could hardly stand the wait.

Ryn ignored his fuming. Recovering from her first bout of dizziness and nausea, she gave orders for their transport with a succinct efficiency that reminded Anakin how little he understood about her life before the Jedi Temple. Loreth remained an unknown quantity in her past, a series of locked doors. Watching her stalk back and forth, radiating command and expecting to be obeyed, it was hard to see the reticent girl he'd known on Coruscant.

At least Evinne was still familiar. She listened to Sarta's explanation of their plan, grunted her disapprobation of the galaxy in general, and stalked - not unlike her younger compatriot - off to manage the search for Omega, which was now also the search for Obi-Wan.

Whatever weight Ryn had was enough to get the transport to come to them, rather than the other way around; it met them at the edge of the Dome, a sleek shielded troop carrier much like the LAAtis Anakin would grow used to during the Clone Wars and equally similar to the Lorethan runner that had evacuated them from the Works after their firefight with the Blades of Light. Anakin shook off the memory of Ryn bleeding on the floor of the transport, struggling for life. They had survived that disaster; they could handle this one, too.

_Maybe._

In his mind, Obi-Wan's voice reminded him: _Concentrate, young Padawan. Always remember: your focus determines your reality._

He pictured Obi-Wan in their quarters in the Jedi Temple, smiling and healthy, and Ryn sitting cross-legged in front of him as she was wont to do, her face lit by a teasing grin, and clung to that image as hard as he could, until he could just hear Obi-Wan's muted chuckle and the soft huskiness of Ryn's laugh. _It's real it's real it's_ ––

The scene shifted without warning, and Anakin groped for the reality he'd been creating before he knew where he was –– and then stopped, frozen, because he'd been here before, but never awake.

_It was a small garden, walled with stone, trailing with vines. A profusion of plants spilled out of their rock-walled beds in verdant disorder, running riot over the stonework. It was a place of peace and joy, a nexus of _life_, and Ryn stood in the middle of it. _

_ She had her back to him today, facing the semicircle of students –– maybe a dozen ––sprawled before her in the deep-piled moss. Anakin couldn't see her face from this angle, but it didn't matter; he would have known her laughter anywhere. He could feel her smile as she lectured ... to the Younglings? The human students had thin braids twined behind their right ears, short but otherwise identical to Anakin's own. He glanced reflexively at the sky and caught a glimpse, through the haze, of the Senate district, a view he'd seen a hundred times, exactly like this, from one of the upper meditation gardens ... except that that garden was sparse and well-organized, nothing like this wilderness. _What the ...

_ Ryn turned to face him, her eyes bright, her smile inquisitive. "Anakin? What brings you here?" _

_ "I ..." How could she have that silver streak in her hair? She was only thirteen years old ... no, how could he have forgotten, she was nearly seventy, she'd taught here for years. "I just want to make sure Obi-Wan is all right." _

_ Ryn's brightness dimmed; he could see it not just in her face, but in the Force. "Anakin ... Obi-Wan is dead." _

"Anakin? Anakin, can you hear me? Please, Anakin, just ––"

He shook free and opened his eyes to meet Ryn's, wide and uncertain. "Where were you?" she whispered, her voice hushed with worry. "I was afraid ..." She let the sentence trail off, but Anakin heard the words she didn't say: _I'd lost you_.

"I saw you," Anakin answered quietly, still trying to drag himself back to the present. "You were old. You told me Obi-Wan was dead."

Ryn frowned up at him. "The future?"

"I don't know!"

She lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry. I'm just trying to understand."

Anakin sighed. "I don't get it, either."

Ryn chewed her lip reflectively, a familiar habit. "But you think it was a vision?"

"From the Force. But I don't know what it means."

"If we're old in ... what you saw ... maybe that could be a good sign. I didn't say _when_ Obi-Wan died, did I?"

"No. But the vision didn't last long."

"I'm just saying that if we're both old, Obi-Wan is older. He might have lived to a ripe age and died of natural causes."

It was better than losing him now, anyway. But in the end Anakin could only shrug, and hunker against the wall of the transport.

_Hold on, Master. I'm coming._


	76. Chapter 76

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX**

He missed most of their flight over Loreth - not through inattention, but because the hatches remained sealed until landing, blocked the view as they rushed down Loreth's gravity well. Ryn clung to the handgrip beside him, face set tight in stoic endurance, eyes fixed resolutely ahead. Anakin wanted to help, but it was getting harder to distinguish her pain from his own, and there wasn't much he could do for either of them. Even releasing his misery into the Force didn't seem to help much, and it was hard to hold his concentration effectively.

The Temple of the Living Force was set in stone at the head of a deep-sided glen, where two mountain spurs thrust out and formed a cleft between them. From a kilometer away - or a mile, whatever that was; Lorethan measurements sometimes raised more questions than they answered - Anakin doubted whether a non-Force-sensitive being would have guessed at its existence. For a Jedi, it practically leapt out and shouted.

"This place is strong with the Force," he murmured to Ryn.

"The place was chosen for its concentration of energies," Ryn agreed. She was paler than usual, but steady on her feet again, and her eyes were clear. "Loron and Ethyn first dwelt in this valley, many hundreds of years ago. There is a shrine in their honor down that way -" She pointed back down the winding glen. "Visitors pray to them for blessing. But the Temple is for the Servants of Life. They dedicate themselves to the fostering of life wherever they find it, and seek to nurture the spark within all beings. They count themselves the servants of all living things. You can think of them as sentient counterparts of the midichlorians, if you like."

Anakin scowled at her. "That doesn't even make sense."

"If you ask me, neither do midichlorians," Ryn answered. "But have it your way."

Anakin snorted. "don't you care? Don't you want to know what it really is?"

Ryn gave him a tired smile. "It's a mystery," she said. "I can live with that."

Anakin started to say he _couldn't_, realized that sounded absurd, and stopped. Ryn caught the look on his face and laughed at him anyway. "So impatient, Master Jedi?"

Anakin was still angry enough over the mess she'd gotten them into - they could be out there now, searching for Obi-Wan, if she had just left well enough alone - to feel a flare of temper at her levity. He pushed it down and said, "Whatever. Let's go."

Ryn's hurt colored the Force, bright sparks of pain dancing in her aura, but all she said was, "This way."

Sarta led them –– they'd left Evinne and Engine and Gunryth on Fjornel, though Makesh was with them still, a silent, steady presence –– up a winding path that climbed up the glen toward the Temple, identifiable at first only as a cleared space where the mountain-wall lay bare to its bones: a sparkling expanse of many-hued stone that ranged from a smoky purple to a pale green. Only at the entrance was here evidence of sentient effort: at the wide mouth of a cave that opened some ten meters above the glen's floor, pillars had been carved into the native stone and flowers hung around the bas-relief, bright in the sunlight.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Ryn said. "I grew up leagues and leagues away, and yet something about this place always feels like home."

Despite the pain and dizziness, Ryn was practically glowing. "I guess I never really had a home," Anakin answered hesitantly, since her enthusiasm seemed to beg a response. "Home was always wherever my mom was."

"I know," Ryn said, her voice soft with sympathy. She reached out and squeezed his arm. "But she loved you. That's worth more than a place any day."

Anakin started to protest that a child should have both, a mother _and_ a place to call home; but then he remember what Ryn had told him last night and gave it up. There was no way in the galaxy he would trade Shmi's constant love and support for a place to belong; without love, a home was empty. And lecturing Ryn on happy childhoods seemed not just pointless, but petty. He glanced sideways at her and said instead, "Mom would have liked you."

Ryn jerked to face him, her eyes flying wide in surprised pleasure. "Really? That's ... thank you. That means a lot."

"You think about things the same way." Anakin replayed that in his mind and amended, "Well, some things."

He read the question in Ryn's face. "She would have said the same thing, about family being more important than where you live. She used to say anywhere would be fine, as long as we had each other."

Ryn nodded solemnly, her focus on him absolute in the midst of her homecoming. "I know you miss her."

There was no point in denying it, even if he'd wanted to. "Yes. And now I have the Jedi ... but who does Mom have?"

Ryn refrained from sharing her opinion of Jedi friendship, which was probably for the best since neither of them could do anything about it. "I'm sure she's made friends," she offered instead. "A woman as warm as your mother should make friends easily."

"You don't know that," Anakin objected, because she'd never even met his mother.

Ryn cocked an eyebrow at him. "So you get it from your father, then?"

Because Ryn knew he didn't _have_ a father.

Anakin couldn't quite stop a blush. "Oh. Um ..."

"That's what I thought," Ryn said. "Because Force knows you didn't learn your people skills from the Jedi."

Anakin grimaced. "Tell that to Obi-Wan."

"I don't have to," Ryn said. "Obi-Wan told me."

Anakin missed a step; his grunt of surprise was loud enough that Sarta turned around to give him a warning look he'd seen from Obi-Wan more times than he could count: _stop goofing around_. Anakin smiled weakly at him until he snorted and turned back.

"What?" he demanded of Ryn, in a strangled undertone. "I don't ––"

"He told me he never realized what diplomacy was until he started training you. He thought it was about policy. You taught him that it was about people."

"I can't believe Obi-Wan ..."

"I think he's wary of feeding your ego." Ryn shot him a sidelong glance. "Sometimes you buy into your own hype a little too much."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Ryn suppressed a sigh; he caught the slight compression of her shoulders. "You _are_ special, but not for the reasons you think."

Anakin stared at her. "Yeah, that cleared it right up."

Ryn grimaced. "Okay. You're talented and powerful and maybe even the Chosen One, but none of those things makes you special. You could be all of them and still be a jerk." She shot him another look. "Sometimes you are."

_Oh, thanks._ "Do I want to know where this is going?"

Ryn stopped in the middle of the stone-bordered path and caught his arm, turning him to face her. "You're special because you're _Anakin_. With all your flawed humanity. With all your warmth and compassion and sweetness. The way you love too much. Being the best pilot or the most powerful Jedi or the one born to restore balance to the Force doesn't make you special. It's what's inside."

Her words hurt too much. He couldn't let himself think about what they meant, what _she_ meant to him. "I can't believe you're trying to lecture me _now_," Anakin said testily.

Ryn let him go and turned away, her head bowed. "I might not get another chance."


	77. Chapter 77

Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fanfiction.

Author's note:

1)This is the final chapter of Tangle - partly because it seemed a natural place to end, as two of the characters become disentangled, and partly because the story is so darn long. The Life in Freefall saga will continue with Hunters, which picks up more or less where Tangle leaves off - because, after all, they still have to find Obi-Wan. I hope you've enjoyed the ride.

2)Special thanks to regular reviewers pronker and Kelaria, and also special thanks again to Kelaria and to attanagra on lj, both of whom gave me the benefit of their expertise at especially difficult points in the narrative. It's been a better story for their input.

3) For the final chapter of this installment in the series, I'm returning to the Stover-style present tense narration that I've been experimenting with and telling the story in fragments - I hope you like it.

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN**

This is Anakin Skywalker: a talented Jedi. An exceptional pilot. A gifted, if inexperienced, warrior. But right now, he is failing as a friend.

He knows it –– he can _feel_ it, in the way Ryn doesn't quite trust him any more, in the way his presence brings her pain instead of comfort.

He can't quite remember how they got here. The easy answer is that Ryn is right and everything went wrong when he fought so hard to save her from the injuries she'd gotten, saving him. If he concentrates, he can remember a different kind of friendship, one not stained with tears and unrequited love.

If she's right, it's all his fault.

Ryn might be wrong, but ... against his will, he is beginning to believe her.

He misses their easy camaraderie with a burning hollow ache that won't let him rest. Gunryth wants to attribute this to the dispersal of his _annam_, whatever that means, and says they'll both be fine if the healers can restore them to their natural state, but Anakin knows better.

He'll never be all right until he's made things right with Ryn.

* * *

This is Ryn Orun: a hero of her people. A model of self-sacrifice and commitment. A lonely young girl painfully in love with the only real friend she's ever known.

She's afraid to be with him, and afraid to be alone. She's afraid of everything –– but most of all, the unknown.

She walks straight into it anyway. That's what heroes do. But inside, she's already falling apart.

* * *

Gunryth explains the situation to the acolytes at the Temple. It takes a while, but once they get the gist of what she's saying, they gather the healers and usher Anakin and Ryn into a little chamber in the upper reaches of the Temple, carved from the living stone. They light incense burners along the walls and form a circle about the two weary travelers and begin to chant.

* * *

It does't hurt as much, this time around. There is no rending grief, and the gaping absence where Ryn should be can't actually get any worse. It's uncomfortable, in the sense that the whole process is just really invasive and he doesn't like to be touched like this by strangers.

Mostly he can't visualize this tangle they keep murmuring about; he doesn't have the right kind of training, and it's all just a metaphor anyway. But he feels it, _hard_, when the last snarl pulls out and something comes unknotted inside and for the first time in weeks he can _breathe_.

The healers let him go, gently: it feels like a slow fall, and when he touches down he opens his eyes.

Then it's just him, and Ryn, facing each other crosslegged in the middle of a circle of strangers. Ryn opens her eyes, too, slow and deliberate, and looks straight into his. There's a smile lurking somewhere beneath her still surface, but the best part, the thing that makes Anakin smile back, is that she is fundamentally unchanged. She's still _Ryn_, the Ryn he remembers. But the shadows of pain he's gotten used to seeing in her eyes are gone.

The sense of relief is dizzying.

"You okay?" she asks softly.

Anakin has to clear his throat before he can answer. "Yeah." He doesn't have to ask if she's okay too; he can feel it.

Her smile breaks through then, just a glint at the corners of her mouth. "Let's go find Obi-Wan."


End file.
